House Reunited
by OrangeLlyan
Summary: Surviving Paraguay was the hardest thing Gibbs and McGee had ever done in their lives. Coming home might just be the second hardest. Gibbs and McGee have to deal with the aftermath of their imprisonment as they try to get back to 'normal.' Set between House Divided and Twofer. Extended to include chapters from both Gibbs' and McGee's perspective. Now complete.
1. House Reunited

**House Reunited**

Surviving Paraguay was the hardest thing Gibbs and McGee had ever done in their lives. Coming home might just be the second hardest. Gibbs and McGee have to deal with the aftermath of their imprisonment as they try to get back to 'normal.' Set between _House Divided_ and _Twofer_.

 **A.N.** Initially I had planned for this story to just be about Tim and Delilah's reunion. But I also had a bunch of other reactions/tags to the _House Divided_ episode that were mostly finished that would seemingly fit within the spirit of reunifying the team. After some editing and additional chapters, I ended up with a story detailing what happened between the end of _House Divided_ and _Twofer_ with the primary focus on Gibbs and McGee as they deal with the fallout from Paraguay. With the exception of this first chapter, the story is told from Gibbs and McGee's perspective but most of the main cast will appear or be mentioned.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - House Reunited**

Delilah woke slowly as she heard her phone ringing. It was the ringtone she had set for her office and she knew she should answer the call. But she didn't move to collect her phone.

She had _the dream_ again.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly.

Ever since that horrible day two months ago when Director Vance had personally come to tell her that Tim was missing in Paraguay, she had dreamt of her husband. Sometimes they were nightmares where she was informed by various team members that Tim had been killed. Sometimes it was Gibbs who gave her the news and she was able to see the guilt in his eyes because he hadn't been able to protect Tim.

Other times, they were happy dreams where Tim had come home, smiling and laughing about his and Gibbs' harrowing escape from the militants. While wonderful in the moment, it was always awful when she woke up and realized that none of it was true. Those mornings were especially difficult to force herself to get out of bed and face the reality that her husband was still missing. The worst dreams, however, were the ones where Tim returned joyously home, and she realized in the midst of it that it was a dream and that it wasn't real.

She took another deep breath as she thought about this version. Usually the details of the dream faded as she woke, leaving her feeling hollow. But today she felt strangely content and the details were remarkably clear in her mind. Although, thinking about it, that made this dream just as bittersweet as the others.

Tim had come home. He was unkempt and shaggy, but he was whole and safe and standing at the entrance to their kitchen. His team which had worked so hard to bring him home, had come over to their apartment to celebrate but as far as she was concerned they were the only two people in the room.

She kept in contact with her husband throughout the night. Irrationally, she feared that if she let him go, he might disappear again. So, she rested her hand on his leg or held onto his hand as if it were an anchoring her dreams to reality.

And when the others had left, they hadn't needed words to express how much they loved one another. That was the hardest part of the dream. That intimate connection, the one without words, was what she missed the most. Loving her husband with her whole body and soul and knowing that he loved her with everything he had. Even in a dream, that brought her more comfort than she could put into words.

She sighed as the phone continued to ring, interrupting her thoughts.

She knew she needed to answer the phone, but she didn't want to open her eyes and break the spell. She still felt warm, loved and incredibly happy with the thought that Tim had come home alive.

Suddenly, she felt the bed shift and her eyes snapped open in alarm. There was a dark form in her bed. He was skinny, unkempt and naked at least to the waist. For that matter, she was naked too and only half covered with a sheet.

"Do you need me to get your phone, Dee?" a sleepy voice asked.

"Huh?" she asked confused at the sound of a familiar voice from an unfamiliar form.

The form turned over and she was looking at the unkempt and shaggy version of her husband from her dream. His green eyes peeked out from under the lock of hair that had fallen over his face.

"Do you need me to get your phone?" he asked again.

Realizing that this time it wasn't a dream, she leaned in and kissed him. He was surprised for a minute, but Tim smiled and returned her kiss as the phone fell silent.

"God, I thought you were a dream," she replied as she pressed her head against his and threaded her fingers into his hair.

"I had the same thought," Tim replied, resting his hand on her side. "I've never been so glad to be wrong."

"I didn't want to wake up but now I'm glad I did," she replied as Tim lay back on his pillow and looked at her, smiling slightly. She mirrored him. On the surface, he looked like a stranger. But beneath the heavy beard, she saw the same smile. His eyes looked at her with such love that the warmth and happiness from her dream returned. But now that she looked at him, she realized that Tim's return last night had only felt like a dream. "Although, I was really confused when I saw you there. With the long hair and beard, you don't look like yourself," she said as she rubbed his cheek as she pulled her hands out of his hair.

Tim rubbed his face before running his hand through his hair. It was sticking up in odd directions and he had only marginally tamed it.

"I know. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror," Tim said. "I look like a Wookie."

Taken off guard, she laughed.

"You kinda do," she replied fondly. "An adorable Wookie."

"I'm looking forward to a shave and a haircut," he said as he rubbed his face again. This time he used both of his hands to rub his cheeks, momentarily allowing her to see him with a goatee. It looked good. Then again, she was pretty sure that he would look good to her no matter how he cut his hair.

"Are you going to shave all of it?" she asked.

"You think I shouldn't?" he asked.

"Only if you don't want to," she replied. "But remember when you sent me all those pictures of various beards?"

"Yeah, after the dermatologist told me I shouldn't shave for a week," he replied with a laugh. Over the course of an hour, she had gotten email after email with photos of various beard styles as he had shaved off the week's worth of growth. Some were better than others. And some were just bad. "It seemed like a waste to not try out different styles while I had the chance."

"There were a few good looks for you," she said. She held up a finger to her lip. "Maybe not just a mustache though. That's just weird. Unless you're Tom Selleck."

He laughed again. "I'll think about it."

She looked at Tim and his smile and for the first time in two months, she was genuinely happy. And he was looking at her in the same way. No words. Just pure love and joy.

Suddenly her phone chirped to indicate she had a voicemail. She reached out and picked it up. "It's work," she said as she saw the number. "No wonder. It's nine in the morning. They must be wondering where I am. I was supposed to go into the office today."

"I think today is a good day to call in sick," Tim said. "And spend the day in bed."

"You read my mind," she replied as he rolled over and started to kiss her neck and lightly trace her collarbone. She squirmed slightly. "Tim, I wholeheartedly agree with where you're going. But can you let me call in first?" she asked.

"I'm not stopping you," he said with a smile but without stopping his hands.

"I also can't call in with you doing that," she said. He acquiesced and stilled. "Thank you." She called her office and waited. But the moment the receptionist answered, Tim started to trace the skin on her stomach. She bit her lip in an effort to not make a suggestive noise.

"Hey Susan," she said as she squirmed. "Sorry I missed your call. I was still asleep." Tim grinned at her. He was still teasing her, but she had made no move to stop him. She had no desire to stop him. And as soon as she finished this call, she fully intended to escalate matters.

"Delilah, oh good. We were getting a little worried," Susan replied, oblivious to her distress. "Are you ok?"

"Absolutely," she replied. "I'm not going to be coming in today."

"You have a meeting at ten…"

"Can you reschedule?" she asked as her breath hitched.

"I can do that," Susan said. She grabbed Tim's hand to still it, but she didn't move his hand causing him to grin. She tried to look annoyed, but from his expression, she knew she had failed miserably. "Are you sure you're ok?" Susan asked.

"I'm great," she replied. "Tim is home. He was rescued and repatriated yesterday."

"Oh, that's amazing!" Susan said. "Hey, they found Tim!" She heard several people make happy noises. "Wait… Oh." She grinned as Susan seemed to realize that if she was still in bed, so was Tim. "I'll reschedule that meeting."

"Thanks," she replied as she hung up. She barely managed to get the phone onto the bedside table before she rolled over onto Tim. They grinned as they kissed.

Sometime later as she lay catching her breath, she looked over at Tim. He was smiling serenely.

"Someone's content," she said. He cracked an eye and looked at her. "That makes two of us." She sighed happily. "I missed this." She jolted when she realized what that sounded like. "But not _just_ this."

Tim waved her off. "I know, Dee," he said. "I can't say I didn't miss this either. This part has always been really good between us."

She nodded. Rigorous interpersonal activities between them had been good from the start with them. And the lack thereof had been one of the harder adjustments to make to their relationship when she had gone to Dubai. Super sexy skype night had been a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was something they had both come to rely on to make their long-distance relationship work.

"Completely explains how you knocked me up," she said causing him to laugh.

"Pretty sure you were a willing participant," Tim replied with a silly smile.

"Willing and eager," she replied. She smiled as she looked at him. He looked so strange with his long hair and beard but at the same time, he had never looked better in her eyes. "I love you Tim. I don't think I said that enough before. I love you so much…"

"Hey," he said stopping her. "I love you too. And every day I thought about getting home to you to say it at least once more."

She met his eyes. They were shadowed. They hadn't spoken about what had happened to him yet. Their conversations last night had centered more on the things Tim had missed. Bishop talked about how hard it had been to be both Boss and Senior Field Agent. Reeves talked about how he had been forced to take a crash course in forensics after he had been transferred to the team when Quinn had left to take care of her mother. Torres told them about the senate hearings and the case that had led them to finding El Jefe's satellite phone that ultimately helped them to rescue Tim and Gibbs.

That had led them to the point of conversation that everyone had been dying to talk about: how on earth Tim and Gibbs had managed to escape from their prison and take the leader of the RAC captive without alerting his crew. Tim had briefly discussed their escape from the ship and how their improbable plan had actually worked. From the militants letting Tim have access to a computer that had access to the ship's alarm system to the staged fight with Gibbs so that Gibbs could get a knife to the fact that Bishop had called El Jefe's phone the moment he had been dialing NCIS, it was all hard to believe. Except Tim was sitting on their couch and Bishop had seen Gibbs as NCIS.

Everyone knew that Tim had left out a lot of details, but no one pressed for more information. The bruise on his face, the beard and the long hair were reminders that he hadn't been on vacation and his story had left them sitting in a stunned and awkward silence. When Tim had slipped off to the bathroom to escape for a moment of peace, Bishop informed them that Tim looked better than she had expected given how bad Gibbs had looked.

But now that she looked at Tim, she realized he was just as injured as Bishop had described Gibbs. She hadn't noticed last night because his injuries had been hidden by the long-sleeves of the navy uniform Tim had been given on the ship.

She looked at his chest. She had seen the bruises, both fresh and half-faded, on his body last night but she hadn't realized just how many there were until she took the time to study his torso in daylight. His ribs were far more pronounced than they ever had been at his thinnest and his wrists were bruised and scabbed from where he had been bound.

And he was watching her look at him with a slightly haunted look in his eyes as he waited for her to ask the inevitable question.

"I know it's probably too soon," she said tentatively. "And that you'd rather forget what happened…"

"I don't think I'll ever forget," he replied softly as he brought his hand up to caress her cheek. "I won't lie, Dee. It was awful. And I know it is my fault because I was the one who jumped out of the chopper to stay with Gibbs..."

"Tim," she said cutting him off before he could blame himself. "It is not your fault that those men were terrible people. You and Gibbs and Torres. You were saving _children_ from being forced into that life." He nodded in agreement. "I may not like that you end up in danger, but I love that you're brave enough to do the right thing." He smiled slightly at her praise. "And you jumped out of that helicopter because Gibbs would have done the same thing if your positions were switched."

Tim nodded.

"What you went through wasn't punishment for doing the right thing," she said firmly. "And it wasn't penance for making a decision to help Gibbs."

He looked at her with a sad smile.

"It felt like it some days," he said. "But I also know that I couldn't have lived with myself if I had stayed on that chopper. Gibbs has saved my life more times than I can count..."

"And you've saved his," she interjected. "I understand that loyalty you share with your team. I rely on it too, you know." He looked at her. "Knowing that your team would do anything to save you, that's comforting. It makes it easier to accept that you put yourself into danger because I know you have people watching your back."

"I never thought of it like that," he said. "That you rely on it too."

"If there was one thing that gave me comfort these last two months," she said. "It was that you and Gibbs were together." She traced his collarbone with her thumb. "I knew that you'd protect each other and find a way home. And I was right." Tim frowned. "What?"

"He protected me," Tim replied. "At his own expense. I told him not to…"

"But he did anyway," she said. Tim nodded. "It's what marines do," she said. Tim smiled slightly and nodded. "And it's what fathers do, Tim." Tim jolted and opened his mouth to protest but she continued before he could find his voice. "I know he isn't your father, but you might be the closest thing he'll ever get to a son. Why do you think he gave you that watch?"

She watched as Tim's eyes drifted to the chest of drawers where the watch was tucked away in the top drawer among the other family heirlooms the Admiral had left him. After the wedding, Tim had told her about the significance of the watch. She knew that Gibbs had to think highly of Tim if he gave him a gift that was personally dear to him.

"It was a gift from his mother to his father," she continued. "His father gave it to him when he married Shannon. I don't doubt he would have given it to the man Kelly would have married."

"I'm not…" Tim objected when he finally found his voice. "What about Tony?"

"I'm not trying to dismiss the relationship that Tony and Gibbs have," she said gently. "He obviously cares for Tony like a son too and your relationship doesn't detract from that nor is it any better but you're closer to Kelly's age." Tim jolted and nodded in concession. "And you came to his team practically straight out of FLETC."

"I was so green. Sometimes literally," Tim said. He chuckled at the memory. "If you would have told me back then that I'd take on Somali terrorists, Sudanese militants, Russian mercenaries or Paraguayan rebels, I'd have called you crazy." She smiled even as she squeezed his shoulder slightly. "I am who I am because of Gibbs and in a way, he had more of an influence on me than my own father."

"And that's why you couldn't have lived with yourself if you hadn't gone to help Gibbs," she said.

Tim nodded.

"Bishop mentioned that Gibbs looked pretty rough when she saw him at NCIS," she said tentatively. Tim tensed slightly, and it didn't seem like he was going to answer her unspoken question.

"He had it worse, especially for the last week," Tim admitted. She looked at him questioningly. "From the moment we were captured, Gibbs antagonized them more," he explained. "Sometimes it was just with that quiet defiance of his."

"His Gibbs stare," she inferred.

Tim nodded. "They didn't really like that," Tim replied. She snorted lightly. She wasn't surprised. "I tried to tell him that he didn't have to invite trouble like that, but you know Gibbs."

She nodded.

"I'll bet that he was doing it to protect you," she said. The way Tim looked at her told her she was right. "If he was making them angry at him, they wouldn't hurt you."

"Didn't always work," Tim said before he could stop himself. He was looking past her, and she could tell he was reliving his incarceration.

She squeezed his hand to pull him back to the present. But her simple action must have caused him pain because Tim winced.

"I'm so sorry, Tim," she said as she pulled her hand back, alarmed that she had hurt him.

"Dee," he said quickly, and he took his hand in hers. "It's ok. It's not your fault. There's pretty much nothing that doesn't hurt right now." She allowed her eyes to drift and Tim laughed. He kissed her hand. "Some pain is worth it."

She rolled her eyes as she interlaced her hand with his. "Did Gibbs' attempt to protect you backfire?"

Tim's smile faded. "Sometimes, yeah," Tim said as he looked at the ceiling. "I know he hated it."

"He hated that you were being hurt because of him," she said. Tim nodded. "I'm sure you hated that he was hurt protecting you."

"Yeah," Tim replied. "I tried to stop him, but you know Gibbs," Tim said as he looked at her.

She nodded. She knew that Gibbs would sacrifice his health and even his life to protect his team. She knew how stubborn Gibbs was. Her husband shared that same trait. Tim had inherited a stubborn streak from his own father and the time on Gibbs' team had compounded it. But he was still no match for Gibbs in that category especially when he was protecting his team from harm.

"They left us to treat our own injuries, so I knew how bad it was for him. He's usually pretty good at hiding his pain but..." Tim swallowed hard. She brought his hand to her cheek and kissed it lightly. Tim smiled slightly at her silent support. "There was no way to hide anything from each other. So I knew how bad it was for him. And as much as it sucked, sometimes it was worth it to be on the receiving end. If I hadn't, they'd have killed him. He knew it but he still yelled at me every time."

She looked at Tim sympathetically.

"It must have harder on him to treat your injuries than be injured himself," she said as she recalled the nightmares where Gibbs had told her that Tim had died. Even the imagined guilt she had seen in Gibbs' eyes had been horrible.

"He never said it but I know you're right," Tim replied. "When we were first captured, he was upset with me for getting off that helo and staying behind. He kept reminding me of what I had to lose even though I knew exactly what I was doing when I left the chopper to help him." Tim looked at his left hand where his wedding ring had been. "But the longer we were on that ship, the more I saw the guilt he felt." Tim swallowed hard.

"He felt guilty that you got off the helo to back him up," she inferred.

"Yeah," Tim replied.

"And guilty that you were hurt because of him," she said.

"Yeah," Tim replied. He spoke so softly, she wasn't sure he had actually said the word aloud.

She looked at Tim. He was staring at the ceiling and she knew he was trying to hide _his_ guilt for putting her through two months of fear and worry.

"I'm sure he was proud of you too," she said causing Tim to look at her. "It takes courage to run into fire, Tim. And even though you had every reason to stay on the helicopter, you had the courage to run to Gibbs to protect him."

Tim nodded. "We protected each other," he replied. "That's actually why he looks worse." She looked at him questioningly. "The crew liked to force us to run what we called the gauntlet," he said. "They'd take us to the far end of the hall with our hands bound behind our backs and we'd have to run back to our cell."

"Through a gauntlet of angry men," she said. He nodded. "Only to reach the sanctuary of your prison cell."

"They liked the irony," he said. "Some men would try to trip us or push us into walls. Others had canes or bats or brass knuckles." She frowned. Tim squeezed her hand reassuringly. "A few days before we were rescued, we were forced to run the gauntlet. I was behind Gibbs. He went first if we were given the choice and if I wasn't fast enough."

"So that he'd take the worst of it?" she asked.

He nodded. "Whoever came second, if you followed close enough, you could usually get past before they could recover for a second shot or at least as hard of a shot," Tim said. "I was behind Gibbs when someone tripped me." He rubbed the bruise on his cheek. "I hit the deck pretty hard and it stunned me. I tried to get up because if you didn't, you were in for a beating. But someone hit me over the shoulders before I could get up and it knocked me back down again. From there I knew it was going to be bad…"

"Until Gibbs came back for you," she inferred.

"Yeah," he replied. "He stood over me until I could get up. He got a couple of good bruises on his upper arms, a black eye and a split cheek before I was able to move again."

"And you?"

"You saw the welt on my shoulders and bruises from a kick I took," Tim replied. She must have looked horrified because he added, "It wasn't really that bad. After two months of it, most of the crew had tired of the game."

"That doesn't make it any better, you know," she replied as she looked at his bruised stomach and noted how the bruises had the shape of a boot and laces. Just because _most_ of the crew had tired of the game, that still meant that _some_ of them hadn't. Gibbs' intervention had undoubtedly saved her husband from greater injuries.

But as she looked at him, she noted a number of small burn marks. They were too small and evenly spaced to be from a cigarette or lighter. Suddenly she remembered a small, hand-held taser a coworker at the Pentagon kept in her purse. Those small burns were surely from a taser. She frowned as she realized that what Tim had meant was that he had been hurt worse than a few beatings. Someone had used a taser to torture her husband…

"Hey," Tim said gently. "I'm all right. You verified that for yourself. Twice."

Taken off guard, she laughed and buried her head in Tim's shoulder. When she looked back at him, he was smiling.

"I did," she replied. "I wouldn't mind a third."

Tim chuckled and tucked her hair behind her ear as she rested her head on his chest where she could hear his heart beating.

"Even twelve hours apart, twice was a miracle after these last two months," he said. "Maybe after some breakfast, a nap and a shower. Not necessarily in that order."

"As soon as you're ready, feel free to jump my bones," she replied causing him to laugh. She smiled as she heard the sound reverberate in his chest. "I missed you so much Tim. Please don't do that to me again."

She felt his arms wrap around her shoulders.

"I don't want to do it again, Dee," he replied. "I missed you and I hated myself for putting you through everything." He fell silent and she knew what he was thinking. He was going to suggest that he leave the field. "Maybe I should tran…"

"Tim," she said cutting him off as she looked up at him. "You just got home. And you're hurt and tired and feeling guilty. I don't want you to make a decision based on those feelings."

Tim nodded, knowing she was right. He had told her the same thing when she was making rash decisions after her injury.

"Vance said we'd talk about reinstatement once we've been cleared physically and the doctors recommended a weekly physical to determine if we can return to active duty. They all said it'll be a slow recovery," Tim said. "So, I've got a few weeks to figure out what I want."

"Good," she replied. "I'm sure we'll talk about it more but I want you to know that I'll support you with whatever you want to do."

"Even if I want to stay a field agent?" he asked.

"Especially if you want to stay a field agent," she said firmly. He looked skeptical. "Tim, I love you. Your job might scare me on occasion but you do so much good and you're good at it. And I know you love it." He nodded. "And the world needs people who can stop the bad guys. Our baby needs that too."

She grabbed his hand and pulled it to her stomach. She held it in place until he jolted in surprise and looked at her.

"Was that?"

She nodded.

"Uh huh," she said with a smile as she shifted his hand to the other side of her stomach where she felt more movement. "I've been feeling it for about a month now. I thought my stomach was upset until the doctor told me it was the baby. She was pleased that I could feel it. She says it helps my chances of a natural birth."

"That's great," he said as he looked down at her belly. For an instant, even with the beard, she saw the Tim she remembered from before Paraguay. The wonder and awe that they were creating a new life was back. He looked relaxed and peaceful and the haunted look in his eyes was gone.

"The doctors say everything is progressing well," she said.

"Is it a boy or girl?" he asked as he looked at her.

"It's too soon to know," she replied. "They won't be able to determine that until the first sonogram but..." She bit her lip. He looked at her questioningly. "The doctor isn't sure she wants to do a sonogram, not with the shrapnel in my spine. She's worried it could do more damage to my spinal cord."

"We don't want that," he said hastily. "So, there's no way to find out?"

"There are blood tests," she said. "But I'm not sure I want to know. I think I'd rather be surprised."

"You hate surprises," he replied with a smile.

"Normally yes," she replied. "But finding out I was pregnant was a pretty good surprise." He nodded in concession. "Finding out you had been rescued was another good surprise. I think waiting to find out what our baby is for the best. That way we'll go into this next phase of our lives with no expectations."

"You're sure?" he asked. She nodded. "Ok." He met her eye. "You realize that makes it twice as hard on us."

"How so?" she asked.

"We have to come up with two lists of names," he said. "Instead of one."

"I know," she replied. "But it'll be fun." He looked at her skeptically. "We don't need to worry about that now. There's plenty of time to come up with a name. We've got five months Tim. Right now, let's just enjoy being together again."

Tim smiled. "That part is easy," he said as he kissed her hair again before closing his eyes. "Everything is better now that I'm home with you and our baby. Nothing to worry about…"

She looked at him as he once again settled in to sleep. Even though he seemed at peace, she had a feeling that everything wasn't better, and she had a bad feeling that there was still plenty to worry about.

Tim hadn't said it, but she could tell that he had been tortured by his captors and she knew that wasn't something that one just got over. From the marks on his body alone, she knew that there was so much more that Tim hadn't told her about yet and she had a feeling that the gauntlet was the lesser of evils inflicted upon her husband over the last two months.

She had a terrible feeling that once Tim got over the initial shock at being free and home that he was going to find it wasn't as easy as he thought it would be to just pick up his life where he left off two months ago.

She pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes and smiled as he murmured something about wookies.

She knew one thing though.

For better or for worse, she would be by his side, helping him through this painful part of his life just like Tim had been there for her when her life had been flipped upside down and changed irrevocably after the bombing.

Suddenly she felt the baby kick.

Smiling, she looked at Tim as she rested her free hand on her belly.

And they would be together as they started a new chapter in their lives.


	2. Life Interrupted

Well I thought that this story would be a one-shot but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn't get Tim's side of the story out of my head. In _Twofer_ we saw how Tim was handling or rather _not_ handling his experiences in Paraguay and I tried to incorporate the seeds of that here. I realize that NCIS is a lighter show than most crime dramas but I kinda wish they had dug into the trauma a little more just because it would have provided an interesting internal conflict for Gibbs and McGee to explore and overcome. But they basically dropped that whole story line after one episode! Although, if they had, maybe I wouldn't have had the fodder I needed to write this story!

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Life Interrupted**

He didn't really wake up as much as jolt back to consciousness.

He had rolled over in his sleep and rested his weight on some injury which sent pain lancing through his arm. He clenched his jaw and his squeezed his eyes shut to avoid crying out. Rolling onto his back, he tried to take slow and steady breaths until the pain eased. While the pain in his arm eased, the deep breaths aggravated other injuries.

They tried their best to not show their pain to their captors which was not possible more often than not. But with extensive experience in dealing with pain over the last few months, he knew there was only one thing that would help right now: mind over matter. He needed to focus on something else until the pain subsided or he fell asleep again.

Time to put his other senses to work. Focusing on those for a while would help take his mind off his hurts.

Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to his surroundings.

Water. He could hear falling water.

He frowned. That meant it was raining again.

Most of the time it had been warm enough that being in a cell that was open to the elements wasn't unbearable. But when it rained, it could be cold, damp, and miserable especially at night when the temperatures dropped. More than once, he and Gibbs had been forced to huddle together for warmth, often using his long-sleeve shirt as a make-shift blanket.

But at least there was a warm breeze coming in from their grate today so that meant they wouldn't freeze in the damp air. And he could smell the woods today, which was a nice change from the smell of stagnant river water. He could hear the birds singing and a laptop ringing…

Laptop ringing?

Forcing his eyes open, he found himself staring at a ceiling and not the rusted hull of a ship. He blinked as he realized that it was _his_ ceiling in _his_ apartment in Washington. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face and when he opened his eyes again, his ceiling was still there.

"It wasn't a dream," he said as he moved and a sharp pain confirmed that he was awake. "Delilah?" he called as he looked to the other side of the bed. But she wasn't there. The bathroom door was mostly closed and he could hear the shower running. That would account for the rain.

Glancing back to the window, he could see the curtain fluttering slightly in a warm breeze. The air smelled clean and he could hear the birds outside. He could also hear a city bus and someone shouting obscenities at a jaywalking pedestrian.

He smiled at the sounds of totally mundane life in the city. But his smile faded as remembered how many times he had dreamt that he had returned home only to wake up in his cell with Gibbs looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and guilt.

Most of the time, his dreams had been sweet. Even if it was in his mind, seeing Delilah again brought him joy and reinforced his determination to get home. And while he was disappointed that he was still in the RAC's captivity, those dreams always left him hopeful that he would see Delilah once again.

There were days, usually after time spent in El Doctor's room, that his dreams were more akin to nightmares. In those dreams, Delilah refused to see him after his return, saying that he had made his choice when he chose Gibbs over her. In others, he returned home to find out that the stress of his disappearance had caused her to lose the baby. But by far, the worst had been the one that he had returned home to find out that complications of her injury and pregnancy had claimed the life of his wife and unborn child.

Pushing those dark thoughts from his mind, he cast back to last night. He could recall knocking on his door and Abby answering. He remembered seeing Torres' silent request for forgiveness for leaving them behind and not finding them sooner. But mostly he remembered seeing Delilah.

She had been chopping vegetables for a salad and asked Abby who was at the door. Her voice was like music to his ears. And when she turned around, their eyes had locked.

He had wanted to beg her forgiveness. He had wanted to tell her how sorry he was for putting her through two months of hell. He had wanted to tell her how much he loved her and how he would never do that to her again. But words had failed him. He had dropped to his knees and rested his head on her lap, silently begging her forgiveness.

Her warm hand on his had brought tears to his eyes and he could hear Delilah fight back her own tears as she rested her other hand on his shoulder.

He wanted to look at her and speak the apologies he had rehearsed for months. But he hadn't been able to bring himself to look at her until she spoke to him. It had been her voice that had finally forced him to look her in the eyes. Again, he had wanted to beg her forgiveness but she had pulled him into a kiss.

He knew they needed to talk and he _would_ have to apologize but for now, it was enough that he was alive and home again.

They had spent the evening celebrating his return with the team over pizza and beer although he partook in neither. Given his physical state, alcohol was out of the question and the smell of the pizza turned his stomach. The doctors had warned that after months of little food, their stomachs would be sensitive and that they should keep their diet bland at first.

As he watched his friends eat and celebrate, he was content to sit next to Delilah, hold her hand and listen to what he had missed over the last two months.

He had known that the others would want to know how he and Gibbs had escaped so when the conversation reached that point, he told his side of the story from the time when El Jefe came to the ship. He told them how El Jefe had murdered one of his own men with Gibbs' weapon and how he had demanded intelligence secrets from them. Jimmy had pointed out that there was no way they would willingly give El Jefe that information.

His closed his eyes and recalled with painful clarity as Gibbs was waterboarded and nearly drowned in front of him while he was forced to stand by helplessly.

Thankfully Ducky had deftly furthered the conversation along, allowing him to gloss over that particular detail. Ellie, Reeves and Torres had shared a look. They knew he was leaving out something big but no one pressed for details.

After being heloed out of Paraguay to the American ship off the Brazilian coast, they had been flown to the _Seahawk_ which was on maneuvers somewhere in the Atlantic. There, he and Gibbs had been given a medical exam and debriefed by the NCIS Agent Afloat so their story was in a report somewhere. For all he knew, Ellie, as team lead, might have read that report and knew that he and Gibbs had been tortured by their captors. Even if they hadn't read the report, she had probably figured it out just from their appearances.

But rather than tell them that he and Gibbs had been tortured for the last two months, he told them about how he had been asked to help with a computer issue. He once again hesitated as he recalled eating the sandwich as Gibbs was dragged, half-conscious, back to their cell. It had been part of their ploy to get the militants to believe he was willing to do anything to survive but he still felt guilty even though they had been rescued and had eaten their fill since then.

Thankfully this time Ellie had commented that it was pretty foolish of the militants to allow him access to a computer, allowing him to explain that while he couldn't reach the outside world, he could arrange a diversion.

They had been equally surprised then amazed that he and Gibbs had picked a fight with each other to get a weapon and that it had worked. And that upon capturing El Jefe, that Ellie had called the satellite phone while he was in the process of calling NCIS. Then he explained how Gibbs had dressed El Jefe in his shirt and with a bag over his head, used him as a decoy to get close to an exit. But if not for his well-timed alarm, they would not have made it to the top deck in time to meet the Paraguayan military helicopter.

Everyone had expressed their surprise that their tenuous escape plan had actually worked and for some reason, sitting in his living room, it hit him that their escape plan not only _shouldn't_ have worked but it _should_ have gotten them killed.

He had fled to the bathroom to gain a reprieve. After splashing water over his face, he stared at the foreign reflection in the mirror for a time. When he finally left the bathroom, he found that the others had gone.

On one hand, he had been upset that the party had broken up because of him. But on the other hand, he was more than pleased to be alone with Delilah. Once again, words had failed him but wordless connection between them had been all that either of them had needed.

They had talked a little earlier this morning but he had fallen asleep again. And now he was debating with himself if this was yet another elaborate dream. He had dreamt of being home so many times only to wake up still in his cell and all those dreams had seemed real too…

"Please be real," he said hopefully as he closed his eyes.

Suddenly he heard the laptop ringing again.

Opening his eyes, he decided that if it was a dream that he would enjoy it while it lasted. And if it was real, someone needed to answer the call. Their friends and relatives knew how hard it was for Delilah to get around quickly and would often call until someone answered.

But first, he would need clothes. He was still naked from rigorous interpersonal activities last night and for that matter, this morning.

Smiling at the memory, he threw the covers off his body and immediately frowned. He knew how bruised and battered his body was. He felt every last bruise. But it was another thing to see the welts on his body in various stages of fresh, ugly, and purple to old, sickly green and yellow, nearly healed bruises. And the small burn marks from the taser reminded him of his last time on the receiving end in El Doctor's room.

Thankfully the ringing laptop kept him from dwelling on those memories.

Getting up, he stretched aching muscles before he padded across the room to his chest of drawers. He grabbed a pair of soft pajama pants and a t-shirt.

As he was leaving, he noticed the navy coveralls on the floor next to Delilah's clothes. He picked up their clothes and dropped them on the bed. He'd put them away after he answered the call.

Suddenly something small caught his eye.

Looking down, he saw the small Saint Nicholas medal had fallen out of his pocket.

He had tried to return it to the man who had given it to him, also named Nicolas interestingly enough. But Nicolas had insisted that he keep it for his unborn child. He didn't really want to keep anything that reminded him of his stay on that ship, but he found himself putting the necklace around his neck before they bolted from the ship to the awaiting helicopter.

He hadn't known Nicolas long, but he was the only crew member to treat him as a human and with any measure of compassion. And he had offered his help willingly when he and Gibbs had told him that they intended to take down El Jefe. It had been Nicolas who had warned them that El Jefe had bribed too many officials to hope that justice could be served, and he had expressed his regret that there wasn't anything that could be done. When Gibbs asked what Nicolas would do if given the chance, Nicolas had sworn to make sure that El Jefe would never hurt anyone again.

They were en route to the American ship off Brazil's coast when they were informed via Agent Taggart that the Paraguayan military had taken the ship, secured the nuclear material, captured a few RAC members who were on the ship and confirmed that El Jefe, among others, were deceased. Upon hearing that news both he and Gibbs had fallen fast asleep until they reached the ship.

Suddenly he heard the computer ring again.

Pocketing the medal, he made his way to the computer and opened the lid to the laptop. The notification window told him it was Tony calling.

Answering the call, he sat down and waited to see his best friend's face. But as the video loaded, he was met with an empty Parisian apartment. He could hear someone off screen but there was no sign of Tali. Glancing at the time, he did the math. Paris was five hours ahead. It was just after four in the afternoon there. Tony must have just gotten home from work.

"About time, Wheels," Tony said. He didn't say anything while he waited for Tony to look at his computer. "I was beginning to get worried. Usually you call by now with your daily McGee update…" Suddenly Tony was in the picture. Tony was looking at him with shock and confusion. "McGee?"

"You sound uncertain about that, Tony," he said with amusement.

"Well no kidding," Tony said as he sat down. "Last I knew, you still were missing. And now I'm faced with something that kinda looks like McGee."

"Something?" he asked as he scratched his beard.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," he replied with a chuckle. "I don't even recognize myself."

"Your hair was long like that a while ago but I've never seen you with that much of a beard not even when we dressed you up as a homeless guy."

"And doused me with cat urine," he said sourly as he rubbed his face. Tony shrugged but he was still smiling. "That was nothing compared to how I smelled just a couple days ago." Tony looked at him in confusion. "Imagine how you'd smell after two months without a shower."

Tony's smile faded. "I'd rather not…"

"If we hadn't been so eager to get home, I could have stood in that shower on the ship for days."

"We?" Tony asked hopefully.

"You really think I'd come home without Gibbs?" he asked.

"Good point," Tony said, clearly relieved that Gibbs was home too. "God, you are a sight for sore eyes, Tim."

He smiled. "Good to see you too Tony," he said fondly.

"When'd you get home?" Tony asked.

"Dinner time yesterday, I think," he said. "Everything has been kind of a blur since May. I've been told it's almost August but honestly if you told me it was September, I'd believe you. Considering it was a twelve-hour flight on top of a long flight from Paraguay to the American ship off Brazil, I'm surprised no one called you to tell you we'd been rescued."

"Believe me, I'm going to have a stern conversation with our Probie," Tony said. He smiled. "I should have been her first call." He looked at Tony incredulously. "After Delilah of course."

"That's better," he replied. "I'm sure she didn't forget you, Tony. She's just been a bit overwhelmed. You know, being Boss and trying to find us from half the world away. It sounds like the DoD had put up road blocks too."

"Yeah," Tony replied. "She's been confiding in me for most of the summer. Well as much as she was allowed to confide in me. But still! It'd been nice to know you two were found."

"Things happened kinda fast, Tony," he said. "Twenty-four hours ago, we were still being held by the RAC."

Tony paused as he examined him. From the tiny picture in the corner of the video chat, he could see what Tony saw. His scabbed and bruised wrists, the bruises on his face, the welts on his arms and the taser burns were all visible.

"I'm ok, Tony," he said. "So is Gibbs. Little sore but we're both home. You can ask…"

Galvanized to speak, Tony nodded. "Then what the hell happened?"

"How much do you know?" he asked to buy a little time. He wasn't exactly eager to tell his story again.

"I know I don't have all the details," Tony replied. "Just that you were in Paraguay to find a rogue SEAL," Tony said. "Which led to kidnapped kids and a botched rescue attempt."

"Based on the intel from the SEAL, we tried to time our rescue mission before the additional militants got to the camp. We planned to strike early while the guards were tired and before the replacements showed up."

"Yeah," Tony said. "They were early."

"We figured that someone in the village tipped off the RAC," he said. "They may not have known that we were going to try to rescue the boys but they were increasing their security anyway."

"Makes sense with Americanos poking around near their base," Tony replied. "So, you were outnumbered and outgunned."

"We managed to get to the helo," he continued. "But we were taking heavy small arms fire and the RAC was advancing fast. The helo and everyone on board was at risk." He closed his eyes as he recalled the exact moment that he made the decision to jump off the chopper. "Gibbs had been providing cover for our retreat and I saw he stopped at the tree line."

"He was going to sacrifice himself so you could get away," Tony said. He nodded. Tony knew Gibbs just as well as he did. "So that's how you ended up staying behind."

"Yeah," he replied. "I ordered the helo to take off and jumped out." He frowned. "We were captured by the RAC militants right after the helo cleared the area," he replied. "And held captive for however long it's been until we were able to escape."

Whatever question Tony had meant to ask disappeared as he grinned. "Escaped? Of course, you escaped," Tony said with a chuckle.

"And from what we were told, with the death of the leader of the RAC…" he said but Tony interrupted.

"You took out the leader of the RAC too?" Tony asked.

"Not us," he admitted. "One of his men." He slipped his hand in his pocket and rubbed his finger over the Saint Nicholas medal.

"McGee, if you're doing what I think you're doing…"

"Get your mind out of the gutter," he said chastising his friend when he realized Tony could see his hand in his pocket. He pulled the necklace from his pocket and held it up for him to see.

"What is that?" Tony asked. "A patron saint medal?"

"Yeah," he replied as he held the charm up to the camera. "Saint Nicholas. Patron Saint of children. One of the men gave it to me. He was the only one who had any compassion for me." He looked at the medal. "This had been his daughter's."

"He gave it to you for your baby," Tony inferred.

"Yeah," he replied. "El Jefe killed some of his family members when he tried to leave the RAC." Tony frowned. "He told me that he would love to be in a room alone with El Jefe."

"And you arranged it," Tony finished. He nodded as he tucked the medal back into his pocket.

"With the death of the leader of the RAC, the Paraguayan officials are confident that they'll be able to dismantle the whole network," he finished.

Tony chuckled. "The RAC didn't know what they were getting themselves into when they kidnapped Timothy Faragut McGee and Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Tony said emphasizing their names. He frowned at Tony's use of his middle name but didn't say anything. "They kept you and the boss together?" He nodded. "No wonder you two escaped. Between your brains and his gut, it was only a matter of time. Actually, I'm surprised it took you two months."

"Considering what they put us through, it shouldn't surprise you, Tony," he replied soberly. "Between the lack of food and beatings, some days we didn't have the ability to move." Tony's smile faded. "They were kinda pissed we killed so many of their men when we rescued the kids."

"Yeah, I can see that McGee," Tony said. Tony thought for a moment. "Was it like it was with Saleem?"

He met Tony's eye. "They made Saleem's men look like amateurs," he replied. Tony frowned as he looked at his injuries. "And for two months not twenty-four hours."

"I'm sorry, Tim," Tony said. "I should have been there…"

"And if you had, you'd have jumped off that helo and where would that have left Tali?" he asked. "Trust me when I tell you that I went over all the options. There wasn't anything else we could have done to change the outcome."

"Did that include me being there?" Tony asked. He frowned. Of course, he hadn't included Tony in his factors because Tony wasn't an agent any longer and he hadn't been for a year. "I could have helped. How many close scrapes did we get into and out of together?"

"A lot," he conceded even as he wondered how many more times he could cheat death.

Paraguay was only the latest incident. Just a few years ago he had survived a helicopter crash and being hunted by Russian mercenaries. And before that, it had only been by chance that he had been outside and safe when Parsa blew up the Conrad Gala where Delilah had been injured. Heck, if he hadn't wanted the prestige of interrogating Rousseau, he probably would have been killed with Dornegut. And he had been lucky that he had only taken a shard of glass to the gut when Dearing blew up NCIS. Then there was the time he and Tony took on the heavily armed Sudanese militants and got themselves captured by Saleem's men. Oh and the time the guy shot the camera off his hat or when Ari nearly sniped him…

"Hey, you ok, McGee?" Tony asked in concern.

Drawn from his morbid thoughts, he nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Just reminiscing about old times."

"Yeah," Tony said fondly. "We had some fun, didn't we?"

He nodded and tried to look like he wasn't bothered by the litany of close calls from over the years.

"You made your decision Tony. And it was the right one," he continued. "You can't be throwing yourself headlong into danger. Tali needs you."

"And Delilah doesn't?" Tony retorted. He winced as if he had been slapped. Tony instantly looked at him regretfully. "I'm sorry Tim. I didn't…"

"No Tony," he said. "You're not wrong. Delilah does need me and don't think that wasn't on my mind every single day." Tony nodded. "But I also don't regret saving those kids and backing up Gibbs. And I think that's why you left NCIS. You knew that if you stayed, you _would_ have made that same decision."

"Yeah," Tony replied. "So, what are you going to do?"

He rubbed his face and leaned back in the chair. "I don't know yet," he replied. "Delilah and I still need to talk…"

"Oh, you talked," Tony said with a sly smile. "Just not with words."

He blushed but then decided to own it. She was his wife and he wasn't going to be embarrassed by his friend for being intimate with the woman he loved. Besides, he had nearly died. They both deserved some physical comfort.

"Do you blame me?" he asked.

"Hell no," Tony replied. He smiled. "Good thing you showered before you came home though."

He pulled a face at Tony.

"We talked a little but we both need time," he said as he looked at his wrists. "You know, to get some perspective. I offered to transfer out of the field when we found out of the baby," he said to Tony's surprise. "But Delilah knew I'd hate a desk job and I did too, so I didn't fight her on it when she told me not to do that. But after what happened, I think I need to seriously consider transferring to Cyber…"

"You'd be running Cyber in no time," Tony said. He shrugged. "But you'd still hate it."

"Yeah," he replied as he recalled the summer that he had been exiled to the basement with the other Cyber agents. Maybe at one time, being in Cyber might have been his dream career. But after being a field agent, he wasn't sure he could consider being stuck in an office day after day. Then again, he had incentive to take a safer job now. "But I want to be around to see my baby and watch him grow up."

"You know it's a boy?" Tony asked in surprise.

"Well no," he admitted. "But it feels weird to say 'it.'" Tony shrugged in concession. "It's too soon to learn the sex of the baby and Delilah doesn't want to know."

Tony grinned. "It's going to kill you to be in the dark," Tony said in amusement. He rolled his eyes at his friend. "Look McGee, I get it. When I found out I was a father, I had to make a choice, but my options were limited. Tali didn't have anyone else. Ziva's family is dead. I met some distant relatives when we were in Israel but aside from me and Senior, she didn't have anyone else. I only have myself to rely on. You've got your sister and Delilah has hers plus you actually have the mother of your child."

"Yeah," he said as he thought back to Ziva.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't transfer," Tony said. "It's a decision that you and Delilah need to make together. Just try to make the right decision and not the one you think is the right decision." He nodded. "Trust me when I tell you that kids are little emotional magnets. They can tell when you aren't happy."

"Thanks, Tony," he said. "Like I said, I need some time to get some perspective."

Tony looked him over. "Are you really ok, Tim?"

He shrugged. "I'm…"

"Don't you say that you're fine, Tim," Tony said warningly.

"I was going to say," he said firmly. "I'm not sure. Two days ago, I was fighting with everything I had to get home to Delilah. And now, here I am. It's like…"

"Whiplash," Tony said.

"Yeah," he said, surprised at Tony's succinct description. "You know, in all that time we were being held, I never once stopped believing that we'd get home. We had this plan and we were focused on it." He frowned as he recalled discussing it with Gibbs. In hindsight, he realized that Gibbs thought that their plan was a longshot too. "And it worked." He looked at Tony. "But it really _shouldn't_ have worked, Tony. It _should_ have gotten us killed."

"But it didn't," Tony said firmly.

"I know," he replied. "I'm not complaining," he added hastily. "But looking back on it. It was kinda desperate."

"You _were_ desperate, McGee," Tony said. "And it wasn't like you had a lot of options. But you made do with what you had and you made it work."

"Yeah but it still hit me hard, you know," he said. "Last night, I told everyone the same story I told you and they were staring at me incredulously. They couldn't believe it worked either. And it hit me." He took a breath. "I might have hid in the bathroom until everyone went home because I didn't want to let them see me freak out."

"Did you freak out?" Tony asked.

"No. Not really," he replied. "Getting away from everyone let me take a breath and calm down."

"Then you did what you needed to do for yourself," Tony said evenly. "You're going to have days like that."

"Did you obtain a psychiatric degree since you've been in Paris?" he asked dryly.

"No," Tony replied. "But after we found out Ziva died and that Tali existed, I had more than a few days where I hid in a bathroom until I could pull myself together. Going from zero to Dad overnight isn't exactly easy." He looked at Tony sympathetically. "I still have those days. Living with a toddler version of Ziva might actually be harder than the grown-up version."

Taken off guard, he laughed a little.

"McGee," Tony said. "Tim," Tony said softening his tone. "Look, I can tell there's a lot you haven't told me, and I get that. I can tell you went through hell."

"And then some," he quipped. "They were pretty pissed we killed so many of their friends."

"Yeah," Tony said. "I can see that." He looked at his bruised arms and shrugged. "Two months of being starved and beaten by men who hate your guts is enough to break any man. But they didn't break you. You fought like hell, survived and made it home."

"Maybe if I had been alone, it would have been different," he conceded. "But they kept us together." Tony looked at him incredulously. "Yeah I know. They broke rule number one. Again, not complaining."

"Didn't think you were," Tony replied. "I'm sure it helped that you were together." He didn't answer. At times, it had helped to have someone with him. Most of the time, it had been nearly unbearable to see his boss, his mentor and his friend had been hurt protecting him. "From the sounds of things, it took both of you to escape."

"That's true," he conceded.

"And you had a damn good reason to make it home."

" _Two_ good reasons, Tony," he said as he saw Delilah in the doorway behind him from the small picture of himself in the video chat. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and one of his MIT t-shirts. "I wouldn't be sitting here without her."

"She never gave up on you Tim," Tony said. "She knew it was only a matter of time until you came home. She knew you'd fight like hell to get back to her."

"Damn straight," Delilah said as she joined him.

"Hey Wheels," Tony said with a grin. "Did you know your apartment has been invaded by a yeti?"

"Wookie," she corrected. Tony rolled his eyes as he looked at her and laughed. God it felt good to laugh again. She slipped her hand into his. "And yes. Hi Tony."

"Why didn't you tell me that McGee was rescued?" Tony asked.

"You know," she said as she squeezed his hand lightly. "Until he was actually standing in our kitchen, I wasn't sure I believed it. It still feels kinda surreal but in a good way."

"I'm pretty sure that's just the afterglow," Tony said. Delilah rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to make some breakfast," she said. "Someone is hungry," she added as she rubbed her stomach. I'm sure you are too."

"Yeah," he replied. "Keep it simple?" he requested softly.

"Sure," Delilah said. "Scrambled eggs and toast? I have some strawberries too."

"Sounds great," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

"We'll have to catch up later Tony," she said.

"Sure thing, Delilah," Tony said.

Delilah kissed his cheek and made her way into the kitchen.

"That wasn't exactly convincing, Probie," Tony said softly.

"The doctor said that it's going to take a while for my real appetite to come back," he said. "I dreamt of pizza and beer for two months and last night, when we had pizza and beer, the smell almost made me sick."

Tony looked at him sympathetically.

"One day at a time, Tim," Tony said. "Follow the doctor's orders and you'll be better in no time."

"I hope so," he said.

"You know Tim, just because you got home, that doesn't mean the fight is over," Tony said. "It's just different." He nodded. "But you are Timothy Faragut McGee and when faced with a challenge, you don't back down."

He smiled warmly at his friend. "Thanks Tony," he said. "I appreciate the support."

Suddenly he heard Tony's apartment door open.

"Abba!"

He smiled as Tony turned around in time to catch Tali as she crashed into him.

"There's my girl," Tony said as he kissed her cheek. "Bonjour," Tony said to the au pair. They had a quick conversation in French which flew over his head and once the nanny was gone, Tony sat down with Tali. "Look who's here to talk with us." Tali looked at the screen in confusion. "That's Uncle Tim."

"No," Tali said with a laugh.

"She doesn't recognize you with a beard," Tony replied.

"That makes two of us," he said with a smile. "Bonjour Tali." She looked at him uncertainly. "Here," he said as he covered up his lower face. Tali's eyes lit up. "See you know me."

"You look funny with a beard," she said.

"I think so too," he replied with a smile.

"Tali, I'm going to finish talking with Uncle Tim and then make us some dinner," Tony said. "Why don't you go play for a bit."

She nodded and waved as she jumped off Tony's lap.

"Fatherhood suits you Tony," he said.

"I'm getting the hang of it," Tony agreed. "You ready for this Tim?"

He glanced back at the kitchen as Delilah worked to cook them breakfast.

"Not much choice," he said. "Five months and the baby will be here." He frowned as he thought about everything he had missed.

"You need to quit beating yourself up over what you missed, McGee," Tony said sternly. "Yeah you missed two months, but the alternative was that you'd be dead in the jungle somewhere."

"I know," he said unconvincingly. "It's weird, you know. It's like I have this hole in my life. There was what happened in May. Delilah collapsing. The baby. The wedding."

"Which you couldn't wait two days for me to get back to the states," Tony interjected.

"Yeah, well with the baby news, we didn't want to wait. We'll have a big blowout anniversary party and you better be here," he said.

Mollified, Tony replied, "You better believe I will."

"Good," he replied.

"I get it, Tim," Tony said. "If I were you, I'd want to forget that the last two months ever happened. You were alive, but you weren't living."

"Yeah," he replied.

"But you gotta look at it this way," Tony said. "You _survived_. You're back home with your friends, your family and your wife who's growing your child inside of her. That's a lot to be grateful for."

"Yeah," he agreed with a nod. He glanced into the kitchen where he could hear Delilah. "You're right, Tony."

"Your life might have been interrupted for a while but that's better than the alternative," Tony said. "You're home and you have a second chance. Enjoy it."

"I'll try," he said with a nod. "Thanks Tony."

"We'll talk again soon," Tony said. "Glad you're ok, Probie."

"Thanks," he said. "Talk to you later, Tony."

Ending the call, he closed his eyes and rubbed his face.

Suddenly he heard a loud bang. He jolted and opened his eyes, half-expecting to find himself in his cell with the guard banging his baseball bat against the metal door to announce his presence. But to his relief, he was still in his apartment.

"Sorry Tim!" Delilah called. "I dropped a pan against the stove."

"It's ok," he replied. "I ended the call with Tony. Do you need a hand?" he asked doing his best to keep his voice even.

"No, I'm good," Delilah replied. "I'll have breakfast ready in a minute."

"Sounds good," he replied. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Somehow, he had a feeling that picking up where he had left off two months ago wasn't going to be as easy as Tony made it sound.

Getting up, he made his way to the kitchen and leaned against the door frame. Delilah was at the stove, humming to herself as she kept an eye on the eggs. She was eating a slice of cold pepperoni pizza topped with what looked like sliced bananas.

"Is that banana on your pizza?" he asked.

Delilah looked back at him.

"Yes," she replied. "Don't ask me why I put the banana on. I just did it and it's delicious."

"I'll take your word for that," he said with amusement.

"I think it's safe to say the weird cravings are here," Delilah replied. "I've been eating peanut butter and hummus all week."

He laughed.

"Compared to banana and pepperoni pizza, that seems downright normal," he replied with another laugh. Delilah grinned as she returned to cooking the eggs and for the first time in months, he felt relaxed and happy.

He wasn't sure how long it was going to take him to pick up the pieces of his interrupted life, but he knew it would be easier with Delilah at his side as they moved into the next chapter of their lives.


	3. The Little Things

Initially I had planned for this story to just be about Tim and Delilah's reunion. But I also had a bunch of other reactions/tags to the _House Divided_ episode that were mostly finished that would seemingly fit within the spirit of reunifying the team, so I've decided to post them here. So far I have two more chapters with Gibbs and a couple others, all of which will take place between _House Divided_ and _Twofer._ Since they're not all complete, updates will be sporadic but stay tuned for more.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - The Little Things**

He looked up as the curtain was pushed back. The navy doctor, Silva by his nameplate, had entered his area and was examining his chart.

"What's the verdict?" Gibbs asked.

"X-Rays show a fractured cheek, broken and dislocated finger, some cracked ribs and more contusions than I care to count," Doctor Silva said. "Bloodwork is all over the place but that's probably because of your diet."

"You mean the lack of one," he said as he looked down at his splinted hand. They had already reset the dislocated finger.

Doctor Silva looked at him. "Yes," Silva replied. "When I was told to expect two men who had been incarcerated, systemically beaten and starved for two months, I'll admit was expecting worse. All things considered, you're in decent condition Agent Gibbs."

He chuckled as he looked at his reflection in a medical cabinet. He looked like hell.

"Yeah, I know," Doctor Silva replied. "Relatively speaking."

"Yeah," he replied dryly.

"Look, you're going to have a long recovery ahead of you," Silva said. "It's going to take time and you're going to need to consult a number of doctors and a dietitian to make sure you make up for two months of malnutrition. But the good news is that there's nothing that precludes you from flying. I understand that you're eager to get back to the US." He stared at the doctor incredulously. "I would be too if I were you."

"Not just me," he said as he glanced across the sickbay to where he knew Tim was. "What about Tim?"

"He's been cleared to fly too," Silva said evasively. "Beyond that, I can't tell you much more about his condition…"

"Recently dislocated shoulders, taser burns, bruised ribs, bruises…" he said until Silva held up his hand to stop him. "We were held in a room smaller than this. Not exactly any privacy, Doc."

Silva nodded. "He's suffering from malnutrition like you and physically, he's seen some better days but he's also been cleared to fly. He's expressed that he's eager to get home."

"He has a pregnant wife at home," he said softly as he recalled the last time he saw Delilah.

Even though he knew it had been two months since they had been captured, it felt just like yesterday that he had been in Tim's apartment for their hasty wedding after the news that they were expecting a baby. Considering how many of his weddings had ended badly, he didn't particularly care for them anymore. But Tim and Delilah's wedding had been full of joy and even though he didn't say it, Tim knew he had enjoyed himself.

"They had only been married a week before we went to Paraguay," he added.

"Ah," Silva said. "That explains why he's so eager to go."

"When can we leave?" he asked.

"Whenever you want. The Secretary of the Navy has personally ordered that we have a plane on standby to bring you home whenever you're ready," Silva said. He started to kick his feet out of bed but Silva stopped him. "But, I recommend that you stay here for twenty-four hours for observation."

"Doc, we aren't going to miraculously recover in twenty-four hours," he said. Silva nodded in concession. "We want to go home."

Silva nodded again.

"Fine," Doctor Silva said. "I'll start the ball rolling on your transportation. It'll take some time to get the plane fueled and ready to go. I'd use your time wisely." He looked at Silva questioningly. "Shower and hit the head. You've had two IVs since you touched down. Even considering how dehydrated you were when you got here, that's enough to make anyone need to piss and it's a long flight back to DC."

Taken off guard, he snorted then groaned as his ribs protested.

"Fair enough Doc," he said.

He followed the orderly to a shower where he was given fresh coveralls. He turned on the water and as the steam filled the room, he stared at the water coming out of showerhead.

For the last two months, they hadn't been able to properly wash up and to be honest, their injuries and hollow bellies had been a higher priority than personal hygiene. But when they grew too ripe for their captor's taste, that led to a new way to torment them. The men would douse them with cold water, often in the middle of the night when they were trying to get what rest they could on a cold, hard floor. That left them soaked, freezing and at risk for hypothermia as the temperature often dropped in the middle of the night. They had to strip off their wet clothes and huddle for what warmth they could find.

When they did have a moment to think about being clean, the best they could do was use the water that dripped through their ceiling grate to wash their hands and faces when it rained. It wasn't much but it was enough to make them feel human again. A hot shower like this one had been a pipe dream…

Jolting, he quickly stepped under the water and savored the feel of the warm soft water. He wasn't usually one for long showers, but he stood under the showerhead for a full ten minutes before he washed. And when he finished, he dressed, fully aware that he was grinning like a fool as he pulled on clean clothes for the first time in months.

When he finished dressing, he wiped the steam from the mirror and looked at himself. His hair was shaggy, one eye was still puffy, and he had a full beard. Aside from the bruises, he looked like he did after he came back after his Mexican hiatus.

Man, he could really use a beer.

And a steak.

And a really long nap in a soft bed.

Twelve hours and he could have all that.

Leaving the bathroom behind, he grabbed his clothes and returned to sickbay. The Agent Afloat was there to collect his clothes as evidence.

"You need anything else?" he asked.

"No," Agent McHenry said. "I have your statement and I just finished up with McGee's interview. He's in the head getting cleaned up now. As soon as he's back, you're cleared to head back to the states. Unless I can convince you to stick around for observation like the Doctor requested." He stared at McHenry incredulously. "He asked me to try," Mike said with a shrug.

"Since you're flying direct, I got the mess hall to put together a few things for you to take on the plane. Doc's orders are to try to have several small meals over the next twelve hours. All bland and tasteless but he wants to get your body used to eating again before you see the dietician."

"Figured I wasn't going to get steak and eggs for breakfast," he said even as dreams of a fireplace steak vanished.

"Not if you don't want to regret it," Mike said as Tim reentered sickbay, now clean, showered and wearing blue coveralls. He grinned at Tim as the young man ran his fingers through his longer hair which was still damp from his own shower. Even clean, Tim still looked strange with the beard.

"Think Delilah will recognize me like this?" Tim asked as he rubbed his face.

"Pretty sure she won't care how you look," he replied. Tim shrugged but he didn't look so certain. "You ready to go home?"

Tim met his eye and nodded. "Yeah, Gibbs."

Turning to Agent McHenry, he looked at the man expectantly.

"This way then," McHenry said as he led the way out of sickbay. "Make a hole!"

He looked down the hall and watched as the sailors pressed against the wall or moved into doorways to give them a clear path. He stopped in his tracks as he looked down the hall. Closing his eyes, he was momentarily transported back to the rusted steamer where they had been forced to run through the halls, hands bound behind them as the crew shouted and jeered and struck at them with fists, baseball bats and anything else that would cause them pain until they reached the safety of their cell.

Suddenly Tim's hand was on his shoulder.

Glancing at Tim, he could tell that Tim was thinking the same thing. With a deep breath, he walked forward. When they reached the deck, he let out the breath he had been holding and he saw Tim's relief as well. Even though they knew they weren't going to be hit, two months of conditioning to expect pain had left their mark.

They quickly geared up and made their way to the COD.

"I'm sorry we can't offer you anything more comfortable," the crewman said as they eyed the bare transport. The cargo hold was empty and there was only a row of canvas seats on either side of the plane. "But we'll get you home as fast as possible."

He glanced at the canvas seat and smiled. "Lieutenant," he said as he patted the man's shoulder. "After where we've been, this is like a five-star hotel." The Lieutenant looked skeptical but thankfully didn't ask any questions.

"Mess hall sent up food and plenty of water for the trip home," the Lieutenant said. "The crew will have coffee in a few hours if you want any." He grinned. He had forgotten what coffee smelled and tasted like. God, he missed coffee. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Yeah," Tim replied for him. Tim looked just as amused by his reaction as the Lieutenant.

"Get yourselves strapped in," the Lieutenant said. "Once we hit cruising altitude, you can stretch out and catch some rack time. We're fueled up for a direct flight."

He nodded and sat down next to Tim. Once they strapped in, he gave the thumbs up to the crew. As soon as the lieutenant disappeared, he heard the engines rev and knew that takeoff was imminent.

"This isn't an elaborate dream is it?" Tim asked suddenly looking worried. "I mean, I've had dreams like this before boss."

He reached up and squeezed the younger man's shoulder.

"Ask yourself that again in a minute, Tim," he said.

Suddenly they were jolted as the catapult launched them forward off the deck and into the sky beyond.

When they recovered, Tim looked at him, still a little shocked, but also with a smile on his face.

"That wasn't a dream," Tim said over the noise.

Laughing, he shook his head. It certainly wasn't.

He leaned back and sighed contentedly.

The next twelve hours were a blur. Once the crew gave the ok, he stretched out on the canvas seat and slept a little while Tim did the same on the opposite side of the plane. They ate a little and drank a little and slept some more.

The only constant was the droning of the engines of the plane until the flight lieutenant returned some hours later with two cups of coffee.

He took the cup and took a deep breath. The pungent smell of bad coffee never smelled so sweet.

"It isn't the greatest coffee in the world," the lieutenant said warningly.

He took a sip. The man was right. It was terrible coffee. And yet, it tasted great. He sighed happily.

"Gibbs practically mainlines coffee," Tim replied as he took his cup. "That's the first cup he's had in two months."

"Ah," the flight lieutenant replied in understanding. "Enjoy. We've still got a few hours before we touch down at Andrews."

They nodded as he left.

Tim took a sip of the coffee and nearly gagged.

"This is really awful coffee," Tim said as he looked at his cup.

He laughed. "Yeah," he replied. "Yeah it is." He took another sip.

Even though it was awful, he was reminded that better cups were to come. In a few hours, he could go the diner and get a _real_ cup of coffee. That made him smile which confused Tim but he didn't feel the need to explain his thoughts.

Tim looked like he wanted to ask but then changed his mind.

Smiling again, he returned to his coffee but halfway through, he started to feel jittery. He stretched out his hand and watched as his fingers shook slightly. After two months without coffee, he had no tolerance for caffeine.

He set the cup aside and an hour later, the lieutenant returned and collected the remnants. He didn't say anything but he also didn't seem surprised that more than half the cup of coffee was left inside.

"The pilots thought you'd want to see this," the lieutenant said as he motioned to the cockpit.

Getting up, he and Tim walked to the doorway to the cockpit and looked outside. They were flying over the water but as the pilot turned the plane, land came into sight. It didn't take long for them to recognize the lights and monuments of Washington.

"Welcome home, gentlemen," their pilot said.

At the sight of his adopted hometown, he smiled broadly. He couldn't begin to put it into words what he felt just seeing the familiar sight. The closest description he could think of was joy, especially as he picked out the Navy Yard and the USS Barry amongst the lights.

When felt Tim's gaze, he looked at the younger man. Tim was smiling too.

"We'll be touching down within a few minutes," the lieutenant said. "Buckle up for landing."

Nodding, they returned to the cabin and buckled in. Before he knew it, they were on the ground and the lieutenant had stepped out of the cockpit.

"Thanks for the lift," he said with a nod.

"It was our honor, sir," the lieutenant replied as the cargo door opened.

Tim looked at him.

"We made it," Tim said. "Just like you said."

"Yeah," he replied. " _We_ made it." Tim nodded understanding that they wouldn't have made it out without one another. He looked at the younger man and silently thanked him for staying with him.

"You're welcome," Tim said with a nod.

Turning, they walked out of the cargo plane. It was late but the weather was fair and warm. Unsurprisingly, Leon was standing by a pair of cars that were waiting for them. At first Leon tried to repress a smile but when they reached him, Leon grinned.

"You know, when you asked for an emergency extraction of US citizens, I expected you to be on the helo," Vance said with mock seriousness as he extended his hand.

"We got the second helo out," he replied with a shrug but he was smiling as he shook Leon's hand.

"Good to see you too, Tim," Vance said as he reached out and shook Tim's hand. "Welcome back."

"Good to be here," Tim replied sincerely.

"I know you're eager to get home," Vance said. Tim nodded. "We have cars waiting to take you there but first there are a few things to cover."

"Can't this wait?" he asked knowing that Tim was eager to see Delilah.

"Afraid not," Leon said. "I'll keep it brief." He motioned for Leon to continue. "Doctor Silva sent orders that you're to be seen by doctors first thing in the morning. Since I know you're just as likely to ignore the doctor's orders as mine, I'll add that if you don't show up at Bethesda by oh nine hundred, I'm going to send the marines to escort you there."

"You don't have the authority to order marines anywhere," he said with a smile even as Tim frowned.

"I don't," Leon agreed. "But the Secretary of the Navy does and she's on my side."

"Director," Tim said. "I appreciate that you're looking out for our health." Vance eyed them both. "And neither of us disagree that we need to be seen by doctors." Vance looked at him so he shrugged. "But I haven't seen Delilah in two months…"

"Ah," Leon said cutting Tim off. "Say no more. Make that thirteen hundred." They nodded. "As of now, you're on medical leave. From the looks of things, I expect it'll be a while until we can even talk about you coming back to work. That's not negotiable, Gibbs."

"Wasn't going to argue with you Leon," he said.

"Oh," Vance said surprised. "Good."

"He feels worse than he looks," Tim said. "Even if he won't admit it."

He shrugged.

"Not dead," he said. "Would've been if not for McGee. Took both of us to get off that ship." He glanced at McGee. Tim look surprised but pleased with the praise.

"That reminds me," Leon said. "What exactly were you cutting it close to?" Leon asked. "You promised to tell me when you saw me."

He looked at Tim and laughed. Leon looked confused.

"It was part of our escape plan," Tim said. " _Before_ we made contact with Bishop."

"They let McGee use a computer," he said to Leon's surprise. "He had scheduled a radiation alarm to go off. It was our distraction to get off the ship."

"Turns out we needed it," Tim said.

"Only made it halfway to the deck with the leader of the RAC in tow before the crew caught onto us," he said.

"They had us surrounded," Tim replied. "And outgunned."

"Until the alarm went off," he added. "Spooked them into fleeing the ship. Allowed us to make it to the top deck to reach the helo."

"I'm glad to hear it," Leon said. "I'll be in touch in the coming days. But for now, your chariots await. Welcome home gentlemen."

"Thanks Director," Tim said sincerely.

They walked towards the cars but Tim stopped short.

"Something wrong, McGee?" he asked.

"Boss," Tim said hesitantly. "You gonna be ok by yourself?"

He snorted and winced. "I'm a big boy, McGee…"

"I know," Tim said cutting him off. "But we just went through hell. I know you're more hurt than you want to admit. I know you don't need taken care of but… But it might be nice to not be alone? You know, after everything that happened?"

"I appreciate the concern, Tim," he said.

"Been watching your six since I stepped off that helo," Tim said firmly. "Not gonna stop because we got home."

He met Tim's eye and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I know," he said sincerely. "I'll be fine. Now go see your wife."

Tim looked at him and nodded.

He watched as the uniformed Petty Officer opened the car door for Tim. He watched the car drive away and when he was satisfied that Tim was on his way home, he turned to the young man who was holding the door open for him.

Nodding, he got into the backseat of the car and settled in. Once the Petty Officer shut the door, he got into the driver's seat.

"Welcome home, Sir," the young man said.

"Thanks," he said. "And you don't have to 'Sir' me, Petty Officer. I work for a living."

The man looked startled. "You were in the Navy?"

"Marines," he replied. "Gunnery Sergeant."

"Ooh rah," the Petty Officer said. "Ready to go home?"

"Take me to the Navy Yard first," he said.

"Sir?" the Petty Officer said. "My orders were to take you directly home."

"And I have something I need to get from the Navy Yard," he countered. "A personal item."

"Very well," the Petty Officer replied.

The drive from Andrews to the Navy Yard wasn't long and when they reached NCIS, the Petty Officer got out of the car and opened the door for him.

"I won't be long," he said as he got out of the car. The Petty Officer nodded.

Striding past him, he reached the main entrance where the guards were surprised to see him. They had heard that he and McGee had been rescued but didn't know they were back in country. He quickly explained that he had something to get from his desk and he wasn't going to be back to work for a while.

They nodded and let him inside.

When the doors opened to the squad room, he smiled at the familiar orange walls. Stepping into the darkened squad room, he looked around at the room that had been like home to him. It was empty but even that was comforting. The smell of the office, the orange walls and the familiarity of it all made him realize how homesick he had been over the last two months.

Walking over to the window, he looked out at the skyline. If this was a dream, he was going to enjoy it while he could.

Suddenly he heard the door to MTAC open and close.

"Aw, that's great, Abs," Bishop said. "Yeah, is everyone else there? All right. Well, I'm just finishing up some loose ends here and I will be right over. Okay," she said as she walked down the stairs. When she turned the corner, she looked at him in surprise. "Gibbs, I thought you were with McGee."

"I was," he replied simply.

"Welcome home," she said as she hugged him. In spite of himself, he savored the hug even as it pressed on his injuries.

"I'm proud of you, Bishop," he said. They might have engineered their rescue from the inside but they never would have escaped without Bishop's work from here to find them and arrange the helo to extract them. And she couldn't have done that without help. "Kept the team together. I'm proud of you."

"Well," she said bashfully. "I just did what I thought you would do." He smiled slightly. That wasn't necessarily a good thing but in this case it was. "Um everyone's meeting at McGee's house. You want to come?"

He smiled slightly. Tim might have been worried about him being alone but after two months of no privacy, he was looking forward to the solitude. And while he wanted to see his team, he wasn't ready for so many people so soon.

"Nope," he replied simply.

"Well, call me if you need anything," she said as she left his side. He watched as she collected her things and left.

When she was gone, he walked over to his desk and sat down. Everything was exactly as he had left it down to the reading glasses that he had left sitting on a file folder.

Opening his desk drawer, he found the bracelet that his been his fathers. He put it on and looked at the engraving.

He leaned back in his chair and looked around. Like Tim, he had often dreamt of being anywhere but that rusted-out steamer. Some of the dreams had been convincingly real. And even after their rescue, he had wondered if he had been in some kind of pain-filled hallucination.

But it was real. His head hurt, his hand was throbbing, breathing deeply was impossible but he was still standing, figuratively speaking. Against the odds, he and Tim had survived.

Two months of deprivation, pain and illness had left marks, some physical and some mental. He wasn't going to pretend that he would be back to the one place where he had found meaning in his life any time soon. He'd be back. It might be a while, but he would be back.

Getting up, he pushed his chair in and made his way to the elevator.

The Petty Officer greeted him at the car and opened the door for him. When he got inside, he sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"May I take you home now, Gunny?" the Petty Officer asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

When the car pulled up outside of his home, he saw a light on in the living room. Since he wasn't one to leave lights on, he knew someone had been to his home in the last two months. He would lay good odds on either Abby or Ducky had been by. One or both might even be there.

Hopefully they had cleared out his fridge. He didn't want to know what two-month old milk smelled like.

The car door opened and he stood up.

"Do you need anything else?" the Petty Officer asked.

"No," he said. "Thank you, Petty Officer."

The man nodded. "Welcome home sir."

Too tired to correct the young man again, he walked towards his front door and reached out. Unsurprisingly it was unlocked.

Opening the door, he stepped inside.

Despite all the sleep he had gotten in the last twenty-four hours, he suddenly felt exhausted. He looked at the stairs and then decided against climbing them. The couch was softer and closer.

Deciding that he didn't want any of his friends to invite themselves in, he locked the door and made his way to his living room.

But when he turned the corner, he saw Tobias stretched out on the couch reading a book.

"Gibbs," Fornell said as he stood hastily. "There you are. Director Vance said you landed two hours ago. I was about ready to send out a search party."

"Stopped by the Navy Yard," he said. "Had to pick up something."

Tobias looked at him in the dim light of the single lamp.

"You look like hell," Tobias said.

In spite of himself, he laughed at his friend's understatement. "Feel like it too."

"But it's great to see you," Tobias said sincerely. Tobias crossed the distance between them and pulled him into a hug. "You had us all worried."

"Had myself worried too," he replied. "It's good to be home." He pulled back and looked at Tobias. "Vance asked you to babysit me tonight?"

"No," Fornell replied. "I volunteered. I know you can take care of yourself but I had a feeling that you'd need a friend after everything you went through."

"Don't really want to talk," he said warningly.

"Didn't think so," Fornell replied. "You look like you're three steps from passing out on your feet." He nodded. "There are fresh sheets on the bed, clean towels in the bathroom and I stocked the fridge with fresh milk and beer."

"Did you clean out my fridge too?" he asked.

"Abby did," Fornell replied. "About two weeks after you went missing. Needed a hazmat suit and a gas mask." He snorted. "Some of that stuff was bad long before you went missing."

He shrugged.

"I understand you have to be at Bethesda by oh-nine hundred," Fornell said. "I'll be here to give you a lift," Fornell added as he motioned to the couch.

"Why not?" he asked rhetorically. "You're used to sleeping on my couch." Fornell shrugged lightly but he was smiling. "Good night Tobias."

"Good night, Gibbs," Fornell said.

With great effort, he made his way up the stairs, kicked off the canvas shoes he had been given and collapsed into his bed. After two months of sleeping on cold, metal floor, the soft bed felt good on his aching body. He took a deep breath and let it out.

And for the first time in months, he fell straight asleep.


	4. Echoes

**Chapter 4 – Echoes**

As soon as he woke up, he knew something was different.

His head was aching, which made it hard to think. His left cheek and the back of his head were throbbing. That wasn't anything new. After two months, he was used to waking up with some new injury or other.

Then what was different? His gut told him that his surroundings had changed. But he couldn't seem to force his eyes open to figure out what it was.

"McGee," he muttered. "What's going on?"

Even if he was sleeping, Tim would wake when he spoke and Tim could tell him what was going on.

They both were light sleepers these days. Given that a pissed off militant could invade their cell at any time, it had become a survival instinct to not fall into a deep sleep. It was bad enough to take a beating when you were awake and prepared to defend yourself. It was worse when you had no warning.

The only time they fell into a deep sleep was when they passed out after a particularly rough gauntlet run with the crew or a bad session with El Doctor. Tim had been out cold for hours the last time El Doctor had got it in his head to strap him to the table play with the taser. For a while there, he had been terrified that El Doctor had done some real damage until Tim finally regained consciousness.

Suddenly he remembered why his head hurt.

Tim had given the code phrase.

" _We need to start thinking about staying alive," Tim said as he met his eye. "We need to make compromises…"_

They had grappled. He remembered hitting Tim, harder than he had intended. He remembered the guards separating them and Tim being dragged away. He wrestled with the guard and got his knife before the man pistol-whipped him, knocking him to the ground. It had taken a lot of effort to fall on the knife in a way that he didn't stab himself and that still concealed that he had stolen the weapon.

Had he passed out? Had he missed the alarm that they would use to mask their escape?

Suddenly a more terrifying thought came to mind. Had they discovered that Tim had messed with their systems? Tim was being held somewhere else. What if he had been hurt for tampering with the computers. What if they had killed him…

"McGee!" he called out as he sat up and looked around in confusion.

He was in his bedroom at home and not on the ship. It was past dawn given the angle of the sun in his room but it was still early yet.

Looking down at himself, he was dressed in navy coveralls that he had been given on the _Seahawk._ He closed his eyes and images of their escape flashed through his memory ending with his parting with Tim last night.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked around again.

It seemed real. But was it?

How many times had he dreamt of escape? How many times had he imagined seeing Tim home to his front door so he could be with the wife he had left behind? How many times had he dreamt of coming home?

"Gibbs?" Fornell asked as he appeared in the door. "Gibbs? You all right?"

Looking to the door, he saw Tobias clad in pajama pants, a white t-shirt and barefoot. Tobias looked like he had just woken up.

God, if this was a dream, it was the strangest one yet.

He put his hand to his head. His eye was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His dreams never involved pain. Or Tobias. This was probably real then.

"I heard you call out for McGee," Tobias said as he looked at him.

"Yeah," he replied. He took a deep breath which woke him further. "It was a dream. Thought I was back on the ship. Thought something happened to him."

He must have looked concerned because Fornell said, "He's fine, Gibbs. You brought him home with you. Leon told me he saw both of you at Andrews last night."

He let out the breath that he had been holding in subconsciously.

"I'm sure McGee would appreciate that you're still worried about him though," Tobias said.

"That obvious?" he asked.

Fornell entered his room and sat down on the bed.

"To me, yeah," Tobias replied. "But to anyone who knows you, they know you put your people first." Tobias looked at him. "After you went missing, it didn't take long for the rumor mill to circulate through the agencies that there were two American Feds missing in Paraguay. No agency was mentioned so I called to see what you had heard. When you didn't answer, I had a feeling it was you." Tobias looked at him wryly. "Even you don't dodge my calls for two days."

He opened his mouth to say something witty about their mutual ex-wife but when he saw Fornell's genuine concern, he shrugged. He had truly worried Tobias and he didn't feel right about brushing that off right now.

"When you weren't found within a few days, Director Vance called and told me what happened," Tobias continued. "I knew before he said anything that you'd stayed behind. You wanted to give them the best chance to escape." He nodded as Fornell eyed him. "Even if it meant you'd get yourself killed."

"Only half worked," he said as he kicked his feet off the bed. "McGee was on the damn helo and he got off."

"So, are you pissed at him?" Tobias asked astutely. "Or proud?"

He glanced at Tobias and snorted. Trust Fornell have it figured out.

"Both," Tobias concluded.

"Yeah," he replied. "You know, I was prepared to think that this was another elaborate dream."

"But now you don't think so?" Fornell asked.

"If I were dreaming, why would you be in it?" he asked.

Tobias stared at him for half a second before he could react.

"I'm hurt, Gibbs," Fornell said dryly. "Truly."

He chuckled.

"If possible, you look worse in the daylight," Tobias said. "Did you escape from sickbay too?"

He looked down at himself. His arms were covered but his mangled hand and of course the nasty bruise on his face was visible.

"They wanted us to stay for twenty-four hours for observation."

Tobias looked at him. "You insisted you were fine so you could get McGee home to his wife, didn't you?"

"Didn't have to insist, Tobias," he said honestly. Fornell looked at him incredulously. "They said there was no reason we couldn't fly home. So we did."

"But you knew you should have stayed," Tobias retorted. "You knew that McGee wouldn't fly home without you. So you came home."

"And you wouldn't have done the same?" he countered. Tobias didn't argue with him. "He stayed behind because of me. Seemed like the least I could do for him was to get him home as soon as possible. Besides," he added. "Had enough of ships for a while."

Tobias softened.

"How is McGee?" Tobias asked. He tried to figure out how to answer that but he wasn't sure. He knew McGee had injuries even if they weren't as pronounced as his. But like himself, he wondered about the injuries that weren't visible on his younger agent. "He look as bad as you?"

"Not quite," he replied. "But we weren't on vacation, Tobias."

"Yeah, I figured," Tobias replied. Tobias looked like he wanted to continue but stopped himself. But then he bucked up his courage and said, "Look, Gibbs. I know you aren't chatty at the best of times and clearly this isn't the best of times. But if you ever want to talk… I'm here."

"You don't need to be somewhere today?" he asked even as he wondered what day of the week it was. Didn't Fornell have to be at work? Hell, he didn't even know the date. It was July. It might be August though. No. He was pretty sure it was July.

"Director Vance has me TAD to NCIS today. Inter-agency coordination meetings," Tobias said with a wry smile. "That means, I'm here if you want me to be."

He thought about it. On one hand, he was craving solitude. On the other hand, he knew he wasn't ready to be alone with his thoughts. Although that didn't mean he was ready to bare his soul.

And Tobias was right. He usually bottled stuff like this up but for some reason he needed to get some things off his chest. There had to be a middle ground between baring his soul and talking with a friend, wasn't there?

"Do I still have coffee here? Or did my whole pantry get cleared out?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" Fornell asked. "We know better, Gibbs." He smiled wryly as Tobias stood. "I'll start the coffee."

Once Fornell left his room, he stood up and went to the bathroom, idly noting the aches and pains in his body. Afterwards, he looked in the mirror and frowned at his appearance. He really did look worse than he had after Mexico. The hair he could deal with. The beard had to go.

Running water, he started to shave but found he had to move slower than usual. His hands weren't as steady as he'd prefer, and he still had difficulties with his dislocated finger. But eventually, and with only a few minor nicks, he was clean-shaven. Although, as he looked in the mirror, that revealed yet another bruise on his chin that he didn't recall getting.

Shrugging, he returned to his room and found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The jeans were too loose and fell off his hips until he found a belt and cinched it tight enough. The short-sleeved shirt revealed the scabs and bruises on his wrists. For a moment, he debated finding a long-sleeved shirt but the house was warm.

He made his way downstairs and found that Tobias had folded the blanket he had used and tossed his pillow on top of it. He could just see a pair of pajamas tucked inside a go bag, so he presumed that Fornell had also changed. And from the smell of things, the coffee was done brewing.

Entering the dining room, he saw Fornell seated at the table with two steaming cups of coffee.

"I was wondering if you'd still look like a yeti when you came downstairs," Tobias said. "You were up there long enough; I almost went to check on you."

He sat down and held out his good hand.

"Let's just say I'm not the steadiest hand in the west these days," he said.

"I see that," Fornell said as they watched his hand shake.

He wrapped his hands around the mug and savored the heat for a moment before he picked up the mug and took a sip.

He sighed happily.

Now _this_ was good coffee.

"First cup?" Tobias asked in amusement.

"First real one," he replied as he took another sip. "The flight crew made something that smelled like coffee on the transport. Didn't taste like it though." He looked down at the cup. "Still made me jittery after about half of it."

"Two months without coffee," Tobias mused. "The withdrawal must have been a bitch."

"Would've been if there weren't worse things to deal with," he replied. "Near as we figured, we killed about fifteen of their men when we rescued the kids. They were pretty pissed off by that."

"I'm surprised they didn't just kill you," Fornell offered tentatively.

He shrugged. "They probably would have if they hadn't had orders to keep us alive."

"I get that," Tobias said. "But two months is a long time to hang on to two American Federal Agents. It was a big risk and for what? Information? Retribution for killing his men?"

"His men wanted retribution," he said. "The leader of the RAC, he wanted information. He planned to sell it to recoup the money we cost him." Fornell snorted. "Yeah. Wasn't going to happen."

"I'm surprised he let you live once he realized you weren't going to be any use to him," Tobias said.

"You're right about that," he replied. "But we never gave him the chance. We escaped before he could give the order."

Confused, Tobias looked at him. "Wait a minute. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't take him two months to figure out you and McGee weren't going to give him any State secrets."

"He wasn't on the ship for two months," he replied. "He had been lying low after his men captured us. Only turned up on the ship yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Tobias asked, surprised. "How do you know he only arrived yesterday?"

"He brought more men with him," he replied. "Knew it would make it harder to escape. Knew we had to make our break for it especially after he informed us of his plan for us."

"His plan backfired, didn't it?" Tobias asked. He smiled wryly. "I figured. So how did you manage to escape from a ship full of people who hated you and wanted to kill you?"

"With the World's Slowest Moving Escape plan," he said smiling as he recalled Tim's description of their plan. Tobias looked confused. "Knew we'd need a weapon and a distraction." He thought back to their plan. "Actually, we needed two distractions."

"You know you have an annoying habit of explaining things without explaining anything right?" Tobias asked.

He pulled a face at his friend.

"You gonna listen to the whole story or would you rather I skip to the end where I came home and found you on my couch? Again," he retorted. Fornell motioned for him to continue. "They were processing stolen uranium on board the steamer."

"I'd heard that," Tobias said. "Pretty ballsy but far more lucrative than drugs if you can move the material. How'd that help you though?"

"They had a couple false radiation alarms," he replied. "Figured we could use that."

"That would involve getting access to their system," Tobias said. "Not exactly easy to do if you're locked in a cell."

He shrugged and sipped his coffee. That's part of the reason it had taken so long for their plan to work.

"Had to have a reason for them think Tim could help them," he said slowly. "And that he would be willing help them."

"You talked," Fornell said in understanding.

He nodded as he sipped his coffee. "Wasn't much else to do anyway," he replied as he recalled their small cell. "They kept watch so we knew they were listening to us."

"Which meant the guards learned that McGee was handy with technology and had a wife with a baby on the way," Tobias said. "So when they had a problem, they took him to help." He nodded. "Thought he might be willing to turn if it meant getting home to his wife and child. But instead, he set the alarm on the ship to go off to give you a distraction." He nodded. "How'd you get the weapon?"

"When they brought him back, Tim gave the signal that he'd set the plan in motion," he said. "Picked a fight and when the guards separated us, I got a knife. Made the next part a little harder since I had to find McGee again," he said as he recalled their escape.

He had faked some medical distress to get the guard to open the door. With the knife, he had taken the guard by surprise. But before he could get the guard to tell him where they had taken Tim, he had to kill the man to avoid being discovered. He had a few close calls but eventually he found the only other guarded door on the ship. He took a chance and was rewarded to find Tim inside.

"Tim had made a connection with one of the men," he continued. "He was with McGee when I found them. He was following the RAC out of fear that if he left, his family would pay the price. He told us where to find the leader of the RAC, which lead to a satellite phone and contact with NCIS."

"I heard that Bishop just happened to call the satellite phone just as you were phoning home," Fornell said with a smile. "What a coincidence? Or is that against the rules?"

"Didn't particularly care," he retorted. Fornell shrugged in concession. "Bishop figured out where we were and sent a Paraguayan military helo. We were to meet it on the top deck but got caught about halfway there."

"But the alarm spooked the men and you escaped," Fornell finished for him. He nodded. "That took a lot of luck, Gibbs." He shrugged. He couldn't argue. "Wait," Tobias said suddenly. "How the hell did you plan such an elaborate escape plan if they were listening in on you the whole time?"

"Took you long enough to ask that question," he said with a smile as Tobias glared at him. Setting his cup down, he made the sign for sign language.

"ASL?" Tobias asked. He nodded. "That's ingenious," Fornell said.

Picking up his coffee cup again, he sipped his drink. He couldn't take all the credit for that idea. Tim had been tossed in their cell first and had already explored every inch of the room. McGee knew that they weren't being observed electronically by the time he was thrown into the room with McGee.

And by thrown, he meant literally. He been thrown through the door and into the wall. When he hit the deck, he had been stunned, couldn't see straight and was in pain from his visit with the welcoming committee. So when Tim had tried to help him, he had fought against the younger man until Tim pinned him by the shoulders before signing emphatically, 'are you ok?'

Where words had failed, sign language got through his pain-fogged brain and he calmed down.

Eventually they realized that they were being guarded, which made planning an escape more difficult. But after he had recovered from the initial beating, he realized that they both knew enough of sign language to keep their escape plans private. Tim had to resort to finger spelling at times, but it got the job done.

"I didn't know McGee knew sign language," Tobias said.

"Abby taught him," he replied.

"Who taught you?" Tobias asked. He smiled mysteriously. "Fine. Don't tell me. As long as you tell me what happened to the leader of the RAC."

"Left him with the militant that McGee befriended," he replied. "He had a grudge."

"A lethal one," Tobias said. "He should have stayed away longer," Fornell muttered.

"Glad he didn't," he said as he flexed his injured hand.

Tobias looked at his hand. "Good point. While the cat's away, the rats will play?" Fornell asked.

"Yeah," he said as he sipped the coffee. "We never liked their idea of fun though."

"Beatings?" Fornell asked. He looked at him incredulously. "Right. That one is obvious."

"They were tolerable though," he said swallowing harder than he meant to. He knew the conversation was about to get more difficult. And yet, he kept talking. "Especially as the days went by. Pretty sure the crew got bored with beating on us. You could see that some of them were only doing it to save face with their friends."

"What about the ones that enjoyed it?" Tobias asked.

"There were a few," he said softly.

"Is that how you got that shiner?" Tobias asked.

He reached up and felt his split cheek. Even his light touch hurt and sent waves of pain into his head.

"Got this one running the gauntlet last week," he said. Tobias looked at him for an explanation. "We were held on an old tramp steamer. They'd take us to the far end of the ship, tie our hands behind our backs and we'd have to make our way back to our cell." Fornell nodded in understanding. "Whoever went first usually got the worst of it."

"Let me guess," Tobias said as he sipped his coffee. "You usually went first."

He shrugged as he looked at his coffee, idly tapping the side of the mug with his finger. He'd only drank half of it.

"I tried," he said. "Didn't always go first though."

"McGee stopped you," Tobias inferred. "When you were too hurt?" He nodded. "Probably saved your life."

"Saved it more than a few times," he murmured as he watched the ripples across the surface of the coffee. When he felt Tobias staring at him, he continued with his story. "The last time we ran the gauntlet, about a week ago, McGee was in a rough state. I went first so I'd take the worst of it.

"About halfway back to the cell, I realized McGee wasn't behind me," he continued. "I turned around and he was on the deck, struggling to get up. Before he could manage it, one of them knocked him down again. That never ended well if you couldn't get back to your feet."

"You went back," Fornell said.

"Stood over him until he could get up," he said with a nod. He motioned to the bruises on his arms and then to his cheek. "That's where I got these. Afterwards, Tim said one of the men tripped him. He hit the deck hard enough that it stunned him, which is why he didn't get up right away."

"The irony of it all is that you were running back to the safety of your cell, where they locked you up again until the next time," Tobias said.

"Yeah," he said as he sipped his coffee. He was starting to feel jittery again and like before, he was barely halfway through the cup. But unlike his first cup of coffee, he was enjoying this one. He wanted to keep drinking.

"Why was McGee in a rough state?" Fornell asked. "For some reason, I don't think you were talking in general."

He closed his eyes and images of that day came to mind. El Doctor's room. McGee bound to the table. Himself, firmly bound to a hook on the ceiling, unable to help and unable to turn away as El Doctor went to work. Tim was stoic at first. But as the torture continued, Tim couldn't stop himself from vocalizing the pain. Then El Doctor added water and it got worse.

He looked at the coffee and pushed it away. He wanted more but it wouldn't end well if he drank more caffeine right now. He could feel his hands shaking and his stomach hurt. Although given the direction the conversation had taken, he was pretty sure it wasn't the coffee that was making him sick to his stomach.

Whenever they were taken to El Doctor's room, they knew it was going to be bad. Even the easiest days in there were worse than a run through the gauntlet. Worst of all, there was nothing he could do to protect Tim. From the start, he learned the hard way that mouthing off in attempt to draw El Doctor's attention in that room was a sure way to make things worse for McGee.

He felt a pang of guilt as he remembered their first time in El Doctor's room.

It had been only their third day on the ship. They were already aching from a run through the gauntlet, their second in as many days. But when they reached their cell, instead of being freed from their bonds, they had been taken to El Doctor's room. From the contents in the room, there was little doubt in their minds about what was going to come next.

He still remembered watching McGee's jaw clench before he stood tall, determined to remain stoic in the face of whatever was to come. He nodded in approval, silently telling Tim to stay strong. Then he stared defiantly at El Doctor, determined to do whatever was necessary to protect Tim from the horrors that he knew were coming.

Right from the start, his attempt to protect Tim had backfired. He had been belligerent and had taunted their captors. Without realizing it, he put himself between El Doctor and McGee and that had been his mistake. El Doctor realized that he had been trying to protect Tim and decided that would be the best way to cause them both pain.

He had been knocked to the ground and restrained to a heavy weight. The stress position had been painful enough especially with his other injuries but it was far more painful to be forced to watch as Tim had been strung up to a ring on the ceiling and beaten again.

When it was all over, McGee had more bruises and two dislocated shoulders. After the men had taken their turn using him as a punching bag, they had been returned to their cell. Even though they both knew it needed to be done, it killed him to have to treat McGee's injured shoulders. Mercifully, Tim passed out after the first shoulder and remained unconscious for the second. But that left him to watch over Tim while nursing his own bruised body and a crushing guilt that he hadn't been able to protect the younger man.

Even now, the guilt he felt was almost overwhelming.

Thankfully, he had learned how best to draw El Doctor's attention and protect McGee from the worst of the physical pain.

Mostly.

"Gibbs?" Fornell asked drawing his attention. "I lost you there for a while."

"Huh?" he asked in confusion.

"You looked like you were a thousand miles away," Fornell said.

"Four thousand, four hundred fifty-one," he said softly.

"That's strangely specific," Fornell said.

"That's how far it was from the Navy Yard to the steamer in Paraguay," he said. He shook his head. "Ask Bishop to explain."

"What were you doing four thousand, four hundred and fifty-one miles away?" Fornell asked instead. "Were you remembering why McGee was in a rough state?" Fornell jolted and seemed to think that he had crossed an invisible line. He hastily added, "I'll understand if you don't want to talk…"

"There was one guy," he said softly. Surprised, Fornell fell silent and listened intently. "He never said his name, but the other men referred to him as El Doctor." He met Tobias' eye and silently told him how bad it was.

"He was worse than the gauntlet," Fornell said. He snorted at Fornell's understatement. "Torture?"

"Running the gauntlet would fit that description," he said. Fornell nodded in concession. "El Doctor didn't limit himself to blunt objects. He got… creative."

"He's the reason McGee was in a rough state," Tobias inferred.

"He was responsible for the worst of our injuries." He took a deep breath. "That time, he strapped McGee to a metal table and used a taser on him. It was on a lower setting, so it wouldn't knock him out…"

"But it would hurt like hell," Tobias said wincing. "Where were you?"

He looked at Tobias. He couldn't bear to say it, but his friend knew. He had been forced to watch.

Every damn time.

It was bad enough that they had been systemically beaten and starved. But it was worse because each time they were taken to El Doctor's room, they were taken together. And they were forced to watch while the other was hurt. If they looked away, the pain was increased. They learned that the hard way the first time they met El Doctor.

And that left him with a terrible choice.

Did he try to protect Tim from physical pain or the mental pain of being forced to watch him being tortured?

He knew that it was probably worse for McGee to watch. The younger man had always allowed his head to get in the way of things.

But he also knew he couldn't bear to watch them hurt McGee after Tim had stayed behind to try to save him. He didn't see the seasoned, senior field agent. He saw the young, green-as-new-grass probie being put through hell because of him. The guilt he felt when he saw Tim hurt was a knife that cut twice as deep.

But that day, nothing he could have done would have protected Tim. El Doctor wanted to cause Tim pain. And El Doctor wanted to torture him with Tim's pain. He had been successful with both.

"It isn't your fault Gibbs…" Tobias said.

"The hell it isn't!" he retorted.

Standing up, he began to pace even though his body protested. Two months of anger fueled by helplessness had bubbled to the surface and he had to let it out.

"It was _my_ choice to try to rescue those kids," he said angrily. "It was _my_ choice to allow Tim to take part in the rescue mission even though I knew how risky it was. And it was _my_ choice to stay behind even though…"

He stopped in his tracks and cut himself off before he could finish.

"Even though you knew Tim would stay behind with you," Tobias said calmly.

Fornell examined him as he stared at his best friend.

He knew his anguish was laid bare. He didn't have the energy to mask his emotions right now.

Tim had told him that it had been his choice stay behind. He told him that when they were first captured and again after they had been rescued. That despite being kidnapped and tortured for two months. And despite the starvation and the dark thoughts that he'd never see Delilah or his baby being born, that he would make the same decision in a heartbeat. He was NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee. And he had his partner's back. Tim would give up his life to protect him because he knew that he would do the same thing.

He had never been prouder of someone or felt more unworthy of such devotion.

"You counted on him staying behind, didn't you?" Tobias asked interrupting his thoughts.

He opened his mouth to counter Fornell but no words came out. So instead, he stared defiantly at Tobias before he felt the anger leave his body only to be replaced by the crushing weight of guilt.

"Wasn't surprised," he admitted as he sat back down before his legs gave out. "Doesn't mean I wanted him to."

"You didn't think you'd survive being left behind," Tobias said.

He looked at his cup of coffee to avoid looking Tobias in the eye.

"Knew it was a possibility," he replied. Tobias looked at him reproachfully. "Wasn't the goal," he retorted as he looked back at Fornell.

Tobias held up his hands in his defense. "I didn't say anything," Tobias said.

"You didn't have to," he countered.

"Being willing to sacrifice your life to save your people isn't the same thing as trying to get yourself killed," Fornell said.

"Damn straight," he replied emphatically. He winced as he jolted his ribs.

"Which is why you're more proud of McGee than pissed," Fornell said with a small smile.

He rolled his eyes and reached out for his cup of coffee. But when his hand shook too much, he set the cup down before he spilled it all over the table.

"Still don't understand why," he said.

"Why?" Fornell asked confused. "Why people are willing to risk their lives for you?" He nodded. Fornell snorted. "I've been asking myself that for years. You're kind of a bastard, Gibbs."

Taken off guard, he snorted and looked up at Tobias. His friend was smiling.

"That's what the…

"Second B is for," Tobias finished with him. "I know. Been a while since you pulled that one out."

He shrugged but smiled slightly. And in spite of himself, he started to laugh. Tobias laughed with him at his old joke but then he grew serious.

"You might be a bastard at times but you're also someone who is passionate for doing what's right no matter how hard it might be," Tobias said. "You fight like hell for people who can't fight for themselves. It might be stupid at times but it's also noble. You made a real difference in those boys' lives. That means something."

Fornell looked him in the eye.

"And your people are loyal to you because they _know_ you are loyal to them," Tobias said. "You _have_ and you _will_ go to the ends of the earth to help them when they're in trouble. That kind of loyalty breeds loyalty which is why McGee jumped off that helo. And it's why you fought like hell to survive and make sure that McGee got home to his pregnant wife. That might just have been the motivation you needed to make it back home."

He looked at Tobias. He had hit the nail on the head.

"It was," he said softly.

Given everything they had gone through. Given all the pain he had endured, all the injuries he had suffered, he might have given up and welcomed death if not for McGee. Tim had left the safety of the helo to help him. He'd be damned if he didn't make sure that Tim made it home to meet his child even if it was the last thing he did.

He wasn't sure if Tim knew the source of his determination but he knew that Tim drew strength from it too. When Tim was at his lowest, when they were going mad from gnawing hunger or in agony from their injuries, he was there for Tim. He did his best to keep Tim's spirits up and when that didn't work, he reminded Tim that there was no other option. They were going to survive. They were going to get home.

Half the time he didn't believe it and he was pretty sure that Tim didn't believe him either. But somehow, it worked. He knew because Tim did the same for him and against the odds, they had made it home.

He sighed.

"How often were you taken to see El Doctor?" Tobias asked.

"Hard to say for sure," he said. "The days blurred together." He shook his head. "Sometimes, it was every day. Sometimes, it was every few days. I eventually figured out how to draw the worst of it."

"I can see that," Tobias said. "But you couldn't protect him all the time."

"No," he said with a sigh. "There were a lot of times that we were inches from death," he said. "We beat the odds more than any one ought to but after that session with El Doctor, I was convinced I was watching McGee die."

"What was different about that time?" Tobias asked hesitantly.

"Water and electricity don't mix," he said simply. Tobias paled. "He was out cold for hours."

"Obviously he made it," Tobias said. He nodded. "And so did you."

"Never would have made it without McGee," he said finally.

"Physically or mentally?" Tobias asked. He looked at Fornell and silently told him both. "I'm sure he'd say the same."

"Probably," he replied as he rubbed his eyes.

Tears were welling in his eyes and he took a deep breath to stave them off.

Seeing that he needed a moment, Tobias got up and took his half-full cup of coffee along with his own empty cup to the kitchen.

He looked at the table for a moment then looked at the ceiling as he tried to regain his composure. He had so many emotions running through his mind that it was hard to focus on any one thing. Fear, guilt, pride, pain, relief, determination, hope. A thousand emotions bottled up over two months flooded through him.

When the emotions finished flowing, he was left feeling… grateful. Glad to have another chance. Glad for coffee. Glad to have Tobias here to talk to. Glad that Tim was home and would get to meet his child. And most of all, he was glad to still be alive.

He sighed contently.

Seemingly sensing that it was safe to return, Tobias returned with a fresh cup of coffee and a glass of milk.

"I remember the first time I met McGee," Tobias said as he set the glass of milk in front of him. He stared at Fornell. "You might like coffee better but that's better for you for now."

He rolled his eyes but took the glass anyway. He sipped the milk. It wasn't coffee and it wasn't bourbon but it still tasted pretty damn good. And considering that he was suffering from two months of malnutrition, Tobias wasn't wrong. It was probably better for him than coffee.

"I first met McGee on the Napolitano case," Fornell said. "Remember that one?"

"I remember," he said. "Tim had only been on my team for a month and an agent for a little over a year at that point."

"I clearly didn't see what you saw in him," Tobias said. "But you have an eye for potential. Take Torres. You turned a lone wolf into a team player. Then there's Bishop. She was an analyst who sat on the floor and ate children's cereal for inspiration. That's weird even by NSA standards." He shrugged even though he didn't disagree. "Oh and what about DiNozzo? That man makes my whole point!" He chuckled. Director Morrow though he was nuts for hiring a cocky Baltimore detective with a history of moving every couple of years too. "What made you think McGee would grow into the agent he is today?" He shrugged. He couldn't explain his gut. "Oh come on. Tell me. How'd you two meet?"

"He was the case agent at Norfolk. Got a case that was serious enough that he called in the MCRT. He worked the case with us," he replied as he recalled meeting Tim for the first time. Tim had come a long way since they first met. "Couldn't say two words without stuttering and almost puked on my shoes the first time we met," he replied as he sipped his milk.

"You're not joking," Tobias said. He shook his head.

"He also found evidence that led us to realize that an eco-terrorist posing as a sailor had smuggled Sarin gas on board a submarine," he said startling Tobias. He smiled slightly. "Saved my life then too," he added.

As much as it felt good talking to Tobias about what had happened. He didn't think he could talk anymore. He was starting to feel anxious and needed to get up and move. He needed an excuse to not talk anymore.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost eight-thirty. They'd be early, especially given that Leon had pushed back the time limit to one o'clock. But he didn't think that they'd be upset if he came in early. It was as good an excuse as any.

"You mind giving me a lift to Bethesda?" he asked. Fornell looked at him curiously. "Doctor's orders."

"And you're actually going to follow them?" Tobias asked incredulously. "You must be feeling worse than you look." Tobias looked at him again. "Then again, you do look pretty bad, Gibbs."

"Glad it's just not my little secret then," he retorted. He sighed. "It was bad Tobias. And I know it's going to take time to get over this."

"Will you?" Fornell asked. "Sure, physical wounds heal. You'll be mainlining coffee in no time. But I know from personal experience that it's the wounds you don't see that take the longest to heal. You spent two months being tortured Gibbs. I can already tell that left a mark."

He hesitated. He really didn't want to talk about it but he found himself saying it out loud anyway.

"PTS," he replied.

Fornell nodded.

"I know you don't have a high opinion of psychiatrists, but have you considered going to see one?" Fornell asked.

"Tobias," he said incredulously. "Twenty-four hours ago, I was still locked up on that steamer. I haven't been home for more than twelve hours and most of those were asleep."

Tobias held up his hands.

It wasn't a deflection. He honestly hadn't given any thought to recovery, physically or mentally. Things had happened so fast. Twenty-four hours ago, they were still being held by the RAC…

"Ok," Tobias said hastily. "Fair enough. Let me just say then, you ought to consider it Gibbs."

"Gonna have to get a psych eval before going back to work," he replied.

"You know I meant more than just a psych eval," Tobias countered. "I've seen people with PTS Gibbs. You might think you're fine and then one day, you get hit with the echo." He nodded but didn't reply. "Something like this is going to have lasting effects. I'm just saying it might be nice to have someone help with the noise."

"You?" he asked wryly.

"Me?" Tobias asked incredulously. "Nah. You need someone who knows what they're doing. I'm just an FBI agent." He rolled his eyes. "But if you need someone to talk to, I'll do my best."

He nodded. He knew he hadn't had enough time to process what had happened yet, but he knew Tobias was right.

It was one thing to face and even cheat death. He'd done that plenty of times. And until now, he thought that those times had changed him. But he'd never faced death, day in and day out for two months straight with no means of escape. He didn't know quite how to put it into words just yet. But he already knew that something was different.

"Thanks Tobias," he said. "I may have to take you up on that offer."

"Good," Tobias said clearly surprised. "Well then, let me hit the head. You finish your milk and I'll take you to Bethesda. Maybe, if you're a good boy, you might even get a lollypop." He rolled his eyes as Fornell stood up. But before he left the room, Fornell stopped and asked, "What happened to El Doctor?"

He looked down at his glass of milk.

He'd been responsible for taking more than a few lives in his lifetime. With a few exceptions, most of those had been in his own defense or the defense of others. The others had been in the service of justice even though the law might see it differently. Most of the deaths didn't bother him. They were an unpleasant part of his job. Some he regretted because he felt there was something he could have done to change the outcome.

El Doctor's death was not one that he'd lose sleep over. And it wasn't because of the treatment he had suffered at his hands. He took satisfaction in making sure that El Doctor would never torture anyone like he had tortured Tim and the unnamed others before them. After what he went through, he was certain that they were not the first men to suffer at his hands. But he was glad to say that they were the last.

"He's dead," he replied.

"You're sure?" Tobias asked. He stared at his friend. "Right. You got him." He nodded slightly.

While he wouldn't risk their escape to search for El Doctor, he also wasn't going to pass up the chance to take the man out. Thankfully, they encountered El Doctor near the quarters that belonged to the leader of the RAC. They took him by surprise and one quick jab with the knife ended his reign of terror. It was too quick and too painless for a man who enjoyed causing long, slow, torment to others. But he also didn't want to risk wasting any more of the time they would need to escape.

"Good," Tobias said as he left.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Images of Tim in pain flashed through his mind in quick succession. His hand twitched as he recalled the pain he had endured at the man's hand. His finger had been dislocated because of El Doctor.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his hand. It was shaking, and he couldn't stop it.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed it against the table. The sharp pain from his injured finger made him wince but it also stopped the shaking. He flexed his hand slightly.

El Doctor might be dead. But his actions were going to echo for a long time.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So it's not my intention to get into the depths of PTS with this story even though they showed both Gibbs and McGee dealing with just some of the effects of it. I just filled in some of the blanks the show left when it came to what they dealt with in Paraguay and how they deal with it upon returning home. Eventually, they'll see Doctor Grace and sort themselves out. The intention of the story is to get to that point in _Twofer_ where the healing truly begins.

I have two more chapters roughed out but need some serious refinement before I can post them. I also have a few more ideas for chapters and a ending point in mind but those have not been written yet, so updates will be unpredictable. I hope you're still enjoying the story and as always, I love reviews.


	5. Breathe

**Chapter 5 – Breathe**

"McGee," Gibbs said.

Gibbs didn't speak loudly but it was enough to wake him. Not that he was really sleeping. Not deeply anyway. He didn't really sleep much these days. The last few nights, their least favorite baseball bat-wielding, sadist had barged into their cell just to terrorize them. They hadn't been attacked but they both could tell it was only a matter of time before something bad happened.

Opening his eyes, he looked around their cell. He had been sleeping along the wall, farthest from the door and Gibbs was seated at his head, acting as sentinel. It was their common arrangement when they took turns resting during the day. One of them stayed awake to make sure they weren't taken by surprise.

Instantly on alert, he could hear the key in the lock. Someone was coming.

Getting up hastily, they stood just in time for several men to enter their cell. The man with the bat was in the lead.

"Hands," he said.

Knowing that they were in for a run through the gauntlet at the least, he glanced at Gibbs before he held his hands up. Gibbs met his eye and mirrored him. He didn't see El Doctor, so hopefully that meant it was just the gauntlet…

But as he watched, the men bound Gibbs with his hands in front of him. He felt his heart fall through his stomach.

El Doctor.

He met Gibbs' eye. Gibbs had a look of grim determination on his face. He tried to mirror his bosses' expression but as the men tied his hands, he had a feeling that he had failed. They both looked like the cat that ate the canary and were chuckling between them.

Once they were bound, they were taken to El Doctor's room where the lab-coated man was waiting for them. He felt like a side of beef with the way El Doctor was looking at them and he wondered what new horror the man was planning to inflict on them today.

Suddenly El Doctor spoke in rapid Spanish. He knew some of the language and his mastery of Spanish had improved over the course of their incarceration, but sometimes the men spoke too fast for him to understand in his tired and injured state.

Two of the goons grabbed him and dragged him to the side of the room where they attempted to tie him to the hook on the ceiling. He struggled against them and managed to hit one hard enough with his bound wrists that he knocked him to the ground. But before he could fight any further, he heard Gibbs grunt.

Looking up, he saw that the man with the bat held Gibbs from behind with the bat across his throat, choking him.

"You will want to stop struggling," El Doctor said. "He seems to be having trouble breathing."

"Ok," he said as he held up his hands. But the man with the bat didn't move. "Ok! I give up!" Still the man didn't move. "You're going to kill him!"

El Doctor motioned to the man with the bat. "Let him have some air," El Doctor said.

The man with the bat grinned one last time before he released Gibbs and struck him in the back, knocking him to the ground.

"Gibbs?" he asked as he heard Gibbs struggle for breath. Gibbs coughed a few times between sucking in deep breaths. "Gibbs?"

"'M ok McGee," Gibbs croaked.

Suddenly he was socked in the gut by the man he had knocked down. Taken by surprise and winded, he didn't fight back as the men secured him to the ring at the ceiling and bound his ankles to a heavy weight.

By the time he could focus again, he saw Gibbs was on his knees, looking up at him. Their eyes locked for a second before El Doctor stepped between them.

"Let's have some fun, shall we?" El Doctor said. He masked his frown. "Get up," El Doctor said to Gibbs.

When Gibbs did not move fast enough, El Doctor motioned to one of the men on either side of him. He grunted as he was socked in the stomach again. But at least this time, he was prepared for it and wasn't winded. Gibbs hastily stood.

"Here are the rules of this game," El Doctor said as he motioned to the man with the bat. He struck Gibbs on the back of the legs, knocking Gibbs down again. El Doctor leaned down. "I tell you to stand up. If you do not move fast enough." El Doctor looked at him, a cruel smile on his face. "I think you know what will happen."

Gibbs looked at him and he knew that this was going to be bad.

"Get up," El Doctor said.

He watched as Gibbs got up and was immediately knocked down. El Doctor ordered him to stand and the cycle continued. Each time Gibbs was knocked to the deck, El Doctor would order him to stand. And when Gibbs didn't move fast enough, El Doctor would motion for the men to strike him. The longer the torment continued, the harder it was for Gibbs to stand and the more he was struck.

"Tim?"

He couldn't respond. The men had struck his legs and he was hanging from the ceiling from his wrists. On top of the recent blows to his stomach, he was finding it hard to breath and his shoulders were burning.

Looking down, he could see the pain in Gibbs eyes as El Doctor told him to stand. Gibbs struggled to push himself upright but his body gave up. Gibbs looked at him, pained that he couldn't protect him any longer. The guilt on Gibbs' face hurt more than the next blows on his ribs.

"Tim? Tim, wake up," Delilah said her voice filtering through the pain.

Delilah? What was she doing in Paraguay? It couldn't be her. He was hallucinating again.

"Breathe, Tim," Gibbs murmured as he looked up at him.

He nodded. Focusing on breathing helped with the pain. It didn't really but it was better to focus on breathing than his hurts.

Several more blows landed on his legs, causing them to give out. He shouted in pain.

Suddenly he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Tim, wake up. It's just a dream."

His eyes snapped open and suddenly he was looking up at his ceiling. He was breathing hard and he could feel the sweat on his body.

Turning slightly, he saw that Delilah was leaning towards him, her hand on his shoulder.

Letting out a breath, he slumped into his pillow. The remnants of the nightmare were already disappearing into the darkness and he was having a hard time remembering what had woken him up this time.

"I'm ok," he said. "I'm awake."

"I see that you're awake," she said in concern. He looked at her in the dim light from the street lights. She looked worried. "But I'm not sure you're ok." He shrugged. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands. But try as he might, he couldn't remember what he had been dreaming about only a moment ago. He could only recall that he had been afraid of something and that didn't narrow things down at all. He had been afraid for most of his time in Paraguay.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said. She looked at him skeptically. "I'm not lying Dee," he said.

"Something woke you up," she said. "And it was enough to wake me up. You were moaning and twitching in your sleep."

He frowned as he looked past her at her alarm clock. It was almost four in the morning and he felt like he had barely gotten any sleep. Delilah had been up a couple hours ago to go to the bathroom and since he was a light sleeper anymore, she woke him as she shifted out of their bed to her chair. He didn't try to feign sleep when she returned to bed.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he said. "I know it's hard enough for you to get a full night's sleep as it is…"

"Tim, please don't try to make this about me," she said sternly. She softened as she looked at him. "I'm worried about you."

Leaning in, he kissed her forehead.

"I know," he said gently. "It was just a nightmare."

" _Another_ nightmare," she corrected. "This is the third night they've woken us up since you've been home."

He nodded. It might have been the third night that Delilah had woken but in the week since his had come home, except for that first night, he had been woken up by nightmares every night. And each time, the longer he was awake, the less he recalled of the nightmare.

On one hand, he was kinda grateful for his selective memory loss. Living through what happened in Paraguay once was more than enough. Yet on the other hand, he was more afraid of the unknown. Was he dreaming of something he had endured or something he had repressed? Or was he having the same nightmares he had endured while in Paraguay? The ones where something happened to Delilah or their baby or both?

"I know that you've only told me a little about what happened to you," she said. "And I know you don't want me to worry. But I do that anyway." He frowned. She had spent two months worrying about him. She should have never been put through that. "That's what I signed up for when we got married, you know."

"I know," he said unconvincingly.

He knew she worried about him just like he worried about her. But at the same time, he knew she would be horrified by what happened to them. It had been hard enough giving his statement to Agent McHenry and he didn't even know the man. He wasn't sure he could bring himself to tell Delilah just yet.

He needed to process it for himself first before he could think about telling her because he knew she would have questions. He knew because _he_ had questions. And if he couldn't answer his own questions, he'd never be able to answer hers no matter their wedding vows.

He looked down at his left hand. He hadn't worn his wedding ring long enough for it to make a mark on his hand, but it hadn't taken long for him to get used to wearing the ring. Losing it in Paraguay was one of his biggest regrets. It wasn't an especially valuable ring, but it was a symbol of his love for Delilah. He missed the ring more for its sentimental value.

While they were waiting for Bishop to arrange the helo to rescue them, they had searched El Jefe's room and found their badges, passports and weapons. He had hoped to find his ring there too, but it was not among their personal items. He suspected that it was long gone and sold for the precious metal by one of the militants.

"I called the jeweler," she said as she saw him looking at his hand. She interlaced her fingers with his. "It'll be a few weeks before they can start a new ring." He nodded even as he frowned. "Please don't feel guilty that they took it, Tim. I'd rather lose a ring than you."

"Me too," he said quickly. "But it means a lot to me. The day we got married was the happiest day in my life. I know it's just a symbol, but I like having something that shows I'm married to an amazing woman that I love more than anything else."

Delilah softened and looked up at him. She reached up and stroked his cheek. He had shaved most of the beard before heading to the hospital on his first day home. Like he had when he last had to grow out his beard, he tried a few different facial hair looks as he shaved before they both agreed that they liked him in a goatee. He had never worn facial hair before, but Delilah said it suited him and he tended to agree.

"That's very sweet," she said. "But don't change the subject."

"I wasn't trying to change the subject," he replied as honestly as he could. "I really can't remember the dream," he said stammering under her intense gaze. "I promise I'm telling the truth."

He could see that Delilah didn't believe him but thankfully she didn't press the matter.

"Tim, I know you went through a lot and I understand that you're probably not ready to talk about everything yet," she said softly. He frowned. While she wasn't wrong, that wasn't the case here… "And I know I'll never really be able to understand what you went through, but I want to help, and I can't do that if I don't know what you're going through."

"I know," he replied. "I remember what it was like for me when you were struggling to figure things out after you were injured."

That had been a difficult time for both of them and not just because of her injury. She had been worried and upset that he hadn't wanted to go to the gala. When he had gone to pick her up, she hadn't really wanted to talk with him. But he pleaded for her to hear him out and thankfully she had.

He had explained how scared he was of their relationship and how afraid he was of loving someone more than he could put into words. And that for whatever reason, he saw attending the gala with her as the moment where he committed himself fully to their relationship and that if things didn't work out, it would be heartbreaking. But he realized that he loved her and he couldn't let his fear of what _might_ happen ruin everything.

Whatever she thought he was going to say, whatever excuse she expected, telling her that he was scared _wasn't_ what she had expected to hear. In her stunned silence, he just started talking and everything he was feeling just spilled out of him and he probably would have rambled on for who knows how long but she had pulled him into a kiss effectively stopping him.

She had told him that he was sweet and that they would talk more after the gala.

The bombing changed everything.

But day by day, Delilah healed, and their relationship grew stronger with her.

"And you were very patient with me," Delilah said as she realized the parallels. "And I will be patient with you Tim. When you're ready to talk…"

"I know," he said with a nod. He kissed her forehead as they settled back in to sleep.

But he never really fell back to sleep. He woke at every little sound and at every little move that Delilah made in her sleep. So, when her alarm finally went off, he was already awake as she got up and started to get ready for work.

While she was getting ready, he pulled on a pair of pants and a t-shirt and went to the kitchen to prepare their breakfast. Just as she joined him, he set two plates of eggs, toast, and fruit onto the table.

"A cooked breakfast? I could get used to this," Delilah said with a smile even as he watched her note that the portions were significantly different. Her plate definitely had more food on it since he was still gradually increasing his caloric intake in accordance with the dietician's orders. "I love having my husband around," she replied.

He jolted and looked at her thinking that she was once again stating that she was glad he was alive and had come home. After a week of telling him how grateful she was that he came home alive, he finally admitted that hearing that made him feel guilty for being missing for so long. He didn't mean to make her feel bad for expressing her feelings for him, but it was like a gut punch to be reminded that he had put her through hell for two months.

"Oh, Tim," she said. "I didn't mean… I meant because you spoil me…" She stammered and added, "Like you spoiled me before…"

"Dee," he said stopping her. "It's ok," he said quickly.

She frowned and started to eat.

"So," he offered tentatively. "Since I don't have any appointments today, I was thinking that I'd do some more research on houses." She looked up from her breakfast, seemingly happy that he had changed the subject. "We have that long list of places we wanted to look at and see if they'd work for us. I could try to weed out the ones that can't be made accessible."

"I've been thinking about that," she said. "I know I'm due in December and that's still five months away. But I'm not sure that we'll have the time to find a place and get it renovated before the baby comes. Plus you should be back to work by then and I'll be transitioning my duties for while I'm on maternity leave. It just might be a lot to handle."

"Maybe," he conceded.

"I really want to buy a place of our own," she said firmly. "But we weren't close to finding a place even before we found out that I was pregnant. I'd rather focus on preparing for the baby than scrambling to renovate a house. And I think if we can make it work here for a little while anyway, that'll buy a little more time for us."

"We have room in our bedroom for a crib," he said offered.

"I'm not sure I want that though," Delilah said. "Maybe for the first few weeks…" She looked behind them to the small storage room. It wasn't large enough to be classified as a bedroom, but it did have a window since that was where their fire escape access was located.

"You think we could make the storage room into a baby's room?" he asked.

"For a little while anyway," she said. "I know it isn't ideal, but it could work. Plus, we'll be able to save a little more for a house and whatever renovations we might need. Since Tony only charges us his mortgage payment for rent and that's ridiculously low." She looked up at him. "I still don't know how he got this place for so cheap…"

"You know Tony," he said quickly. "He's always got some angle." Delilah nodded. Fortunately, she was focused on the baby and didn't ask any more questions about the apartment. "I think if that's going to work, we're going to need to empty the space and look at it without all our stuff inside."

"That's not a bad thing either," she said as she sipped her juice. "We've been here over a year and we've never opened those boxes. It might be safe to get rid of some of that stuff and store the rest of the sentimental items in our apartment storage locker. We don't have much down there right now."

"Ok," he said. "I'll work on the storage room today. Let me know when you think you'll be getting home, and your loving husband will have dinner on the table when you get here." Delilah smiled and nodded.

"Deal," she replied, relieved that he wasn't upset with her slip from earlier.

When they finished their breakfast, Delilah grabbed her things and left. He gave her a kiss at the door and watched as she made her way to the elevator. After she had gone, he returned to their apartment and shut the door with a sigh.

Now that Delilah was gone, he took a moment to turn off the air conditioning and open all the windows even though he knew it was going to be warm. He deferred to Delilah when it came to regulating the temperature in their apartment while she was home. But the air conditioning made him feel chilled, which the doctor said was due to his malnutrition.

As he opened the window in the living room, he let out the breath he had been holding. He also couldn't deny that he felt better with the fresh air flowing through the apartment. He didn't feel so closed in.

Padding through the dining room he opened the door to their storage area. He suspected that this had once been a full bedroom, but someone had renovated the apartment to enlarge the bathroom effectively turning it into a one-bedroom apartment. The bathroom had been one of the reasons they loved the apartment. An old claw foot tub big enough to soak, a stand-up shower that worked great for Delilah, double vanity, antique subway tile, and art deco light fixtures. Whoever had done the work had done good work.

He did his best to ignore the little voice that was telling him that Triff had likely done the renovations and he definitely didn't want to know if someone was buried under his bathtub...

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he looked at the storage area. It was hard to judge with it filled with boxes, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't large enough to be Tali's bedroom, which was why Tony decided to move out when Tali was brought to live with him. Granted, a crib wasn't as large as a twin bed, but it would still be a tight squeeze for Delilah.

Only way to find out was to empty out the room and take some measurements.

He looked at the boxes. Some were labeled in Delilah's neat handwriting while others were labeled in his. She was right. Most of them hadn't been touched since they moved into the apartment. And even though they were labeled, he would still have to look through each box just to make sure nothing had been errantly packed.

But even as he looked at the small room, he hesitated. This room was even smaller than the cell he and Gibbs had shared.

"Pull it together, Tim," he muttered. "It's your apartment not a rusted-out steamer in Paraguay."

Taking a deep breath, he entered the storage room and began to sort the boxes until he came across one with his handwriting on it.

Pausing, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was already getting warm in the apartment and it didn't help that there wasn't any air moving in the storage room. Turning, he opened the window to the fire escape, idly noting that the fire escape was wet from rain from last night before he turned back to the boxes.

Since it seemed to make sense to go through his belongings first, he spent the better part of an hour pulling his boxes from the storage room and taking them to the dining room to sort through where there was more space. He had shifted the boxes of Delilah's things to one side and it seemed like there was only one more box of his things.

He had just leaned down to pick up the box when a breeze snaked through the apartment and pulled the door to the storage room shut with a loud bang.

He jumped and closed his eyes. Instantly, he was transported four thousand miles away. He could smell the damp, rusty metal and feel the wind blowing through their open cell. He could smell the dirt and body odor that caked his body and feel the aches and pains in his arms and legs. He half expected to hear another bang as their guard pounded the bat against the wall.

Opening his eyes, he turned and bolted from the storage area and into the living room where he bent double and rested his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. It took a lot of effort to fight down the panic that was still threatening to bubble up. Despite the openness and airiness of the apartment, he was seriously debating going outside to get more air.

"It's ok Tim," he said to himself. "You're ok. You're in your apartment. Not Paraguay." Slowly but surely, he managed to get hold of himself. He glanced back at the storage room. He knew he should go right back into the room and get that last box. But try as he might, he couldn't make himself move. "I'll deal with this first," he said as he looked at the boxes in the dining room.

He was just about to open the first box when someone knocked on his door. Loudly.

Jolting again, he rolled his eyes, annoyed that he was so jittery. But even though he was home and he knew he was safe, some habits were hard to break. Especially habits that had undoubtedly saved his life over the last two months.

"McGee?" Torres called as he knocked again. "It's me. Torres. You in there? Delilah said you were home."

Taking a moment to compose himself, he walked to the front door and opened it just as Nick was about to knock again.

"Oh, hey," Nick said surprised.

"Hey Nick," he replied as he forced himself to smile. "What brings you by?"

"What? I can't stop by to see my senior field agent when I was in the neighborhood?" Torres asked nonchalantly.

"Of course," he said. "Come on in." He motioned for Nick to enter the apartment and shut the door behind him. "You looked surprised to see me. Didn't I hear you say you talked to Delilah?"

"Yeah," Nick replied as he checked him over. "Wanted to make sure you were home. I mean, I figured you were but I didn't want to stop if you were out. I was mostly surprised about this," Nick said as he motioned to his face.

Reaching up, he rubbed his chin.

"Oh, the goatee," he said suddenly understanding.

"I'd have thought shaving would have been the first thing you did," Nick said.

"Close," he replied with a slight smile. "I tried some different looks when I shaved. Settled on this one. I kinda like it." He looked at Nick nervously. None of his friends had seen his new look yet. He had spoken to Abby and Jimmy a few times but no one had come to visit since his impromptu welcome home party that first night. "You think it looks bad?"

"No," Nick said hastily. "Not at all. It suits you." He relaxed. Nick looked him over again, clearly checking to make sure he was all right. The bruises on his face had mostly faded. But his wrists were still healing and there were still bruises on his arms. Same with his legs but those were covered. And he knew his clothes were still loose. "You look good, man."

He snorted.

"Well compared to how you looked a week ago," Nick said apologetically.

He shrugged. He had lost the look of someone who had been ill for a long time but it hadn't completely faded. He couldn't argue that he was better. Of course, his surroundings were far more conducive to his health than they had been on that ship.

"Can I get you something to drink? Lemonade?" he asked. "I'd offer you a beer but I'm not supposed to drink yet."

"I could use a beer," Nick said. "But technically I'm on duty and I don't want to raise the ire of our temporary boss. Bishop. She's quite the taskmaster." He smiled. He could picture her standing up to Nick and Clay, keeping them in line. "But lemonade would be nice."

Nodding, he motioned for Nick to follow him. They walked through the dining room to the kitchen where he grabbed a couple of glasses. He filled them with ice and lemonade from the fridge and handed one to Nick.

He glanced past Nick to the boxes and the open door to the storage room. He sipped the cool drink, glad for the break from his work. And his momentary panic attack.

"Thanks," Nick said. "You hear from Alex?"

"Yeah," he replied. "She called the day after I got home. She was upset that she had to leave the team to take care of her mom. But I told her I understood. Family comes first."

"It wasn't an easy decision for her," Nick said. "But I think it was easier when she saw Bishop was holding the team together." Nick smiled wryly. "Sometimes by force."

"If Bishop is cracking the whip so much, how'd you escape from the office to stop by today?" he asked.

"Oh," Nick replied. "I volunteered to drop off our case files on the RAC at the Pentagon. One last thing to close up the case and move on." Tim nodded in understanding. "And since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to stop by and see how you were doing." Nick looked around. "Delilah's not home?" he asked.

"She's at work," he replied. "With me home now, she can't get as much done so she's been going into the office more frequently."

"I'll bet she'd rather work where she can keep an eye on you though," Nick said with a smirk.

"Probably," he replied. "But Delilah's behind on a lot of her work and she wants to make sure she's going to be leaving her team in good hands after the baby is born while she's on maternity."

He repressed a frown. She was behind on her work because he had been missing for two months. She never said it. But she didn't have to.

"I've been wondering," Nick said. "How are you going to live in this apartment with a baby? There's only one bedroom."

"Technically," he said as he set his glass down on the island and motioned for Nick to follow. Nick set his glass down and followed him to the short hallway that led to the storage room. But keenly aware of what had just happened, he stayed outside. He didn't want to have another panic attack with Nick here.

Nick looked past Tim.

"It's technically a storage room," he said as Nick examined the room beyond. "By DC standards, it isn't big enough to be classified as a bedroom. But there's a window to the fire escape and we think it'll be big enough to be the baby's room for now."

"You think so?" Nick asked skeptically.

"We hope so," he replied as he looked at the room, forcing himself to remain calm. "We're going to have to take measurements once we get it cleared out. That's what I've been working on," he said as he motioned to his boxes that littered the dining room floor. "We have another storage space downstairs but most of this stuff hasn't been touched since we moved in. Figured if it isn't that important, we can get rid of it."

"To make room for something more important," Nick finished.

"Yeah," he replied allowing himself a small smile.

"Still," Nick said. "This isn't a big apartment for a family."

"We know we're going to need to find a bigger place eventually but with the rent that Tony charges and the location, we're going to try to hold off as long as we can. You know, save up to buy a place of our own," Tim said. "Or maybe build since Delilah's needs are a bit more specific."

"Makes sense," Nick said as they made their way back to the kitchen to collect their drinks.

He took a sip and suddenly felt tired. He tired easily anyway but his moment of panic had taken more out of him than he had expected. He motioned to the living room and thankfully Nick didn't question him as he led the way to the couch.

"You've just been sorting out a storage room for the last week?" Nick asked as they sat down.

"No," he replied. "Just started that this morning. Actually, I've hardly been home. This is one of the first days I haven't had a doctor's appointment. Starting tomorrow, I'll have PT two to three times a week."

Nick looked at him but didn't seem sure of what he ought to say to that and he didn't blame him. Just what do you say to someone who had been held prisoner, starved and tortured for two months? Not that he knew how to answer. He still hadn't managed to wrap his head around what happened.

Some days, it was like a really vivid dream or like a book he had read. Or more accurately, like one he had written. Sometimes it seemed that all the events, all the pain and suffering had happened to L.J. Tibbs and his probationary agent Sean MacGregor. Then he moved the wrong way and something hurt, reminding him that it _hadn't_ been a dream or a novel.

"Two months of not eating enough and being confined to a cell the size of that closet does a number on the body," he finally said. "Just emptying that closet has been a workout."

"It might not be so hard if it wasn't like a sauna in here," Nick said as he sipped his drink. "You know it's like ninety degrees out today?"

He shrugged. It didn't feel so bad now but that's because he wasn't moving and there was a pretty steady breeze. The advantage of being up on a higher floor.

"Another side effect of not eating," he replied. "I get cold easier so I turn off the AC when Delilah isn't here. I'll turn it back on before she gets home and put on more layers. With her being pregnant, she gets warm really easily."

Again, Nick looked at him and didn't seem to know what to say. But now that he looked at the other man, he saw something other than concern for his health. He saw guilt.

He and Nick didn't have a chance to talk in private the day he came home. They had shared a brief hug before he had hurried to see Delilah. Then Abby had suggested a welcome home party and before he knew it, Ducky, Jimmy and Bishop had joined them.

Afterwards, Delilah had told him that Nick had come to see her after he had returned from Paraguay. She said he was dirty, exhausted and looked like he hadn't slept or showered since he had left Paraguay. And upon further questioning, he had admitted that he had come straight from his debriefing at NCIS to see her.

The director had already come by to talk to her and he had shared what they knew. But she recognized that Torres felt guilty that he hadn't been able to protect his partners and needed to talk to her personally.

She had let Nick tell her about the operation and how it went sideways and about how he had been on the helo before jumping off to help Gibbs. Nick explained how everything had happened so fast and how they had lifted off seconds after he had run to help Gibbs. And before he could think to follow, they were too high off the ground and there was nothing he could do.

Nick hadn't understood why he would have gone willingly into the fire to be with Gibbs when he had a baby on the way. In response, Delilah had gone to their bedroom and retrieved the watch Gibbs had given him on their wedding day. She explained the meaning behind it and told Nick about Gibbs' 'Unspoken Rule.' You do what you need to do for family and to him, Gibbs was family.

Nick had vowed that he wouldn't stop until he found them and brought them home. And he had. But that didn't mean that Nick didn't still feel guilt for leaving him behind in the first place.

"I'm pretty sure that you didn't stop by just to check in on me," he said as he swirled his ice in his glass. "Not that I don't appreciate it. But you've got guilt written all over your face."

"You know why," Nick retorted. "You two are my partners and I didn't protect you."

"But you did protect those boys," he said firmly. "You got them to safety just like I told you to do."

"They would have been fine without me. I should have gotten off the helo when you did," Nick replied sharply. "Things would have been different if I had been there with you." He shook his head but Nick didn't let him reply. "Don't you think I could have done something to help you and Gibbs avoid capture? A third man…"

"Would have done nothing," he said sharper than he had meant. Nick jolted and looked at him. He took a deep breath and replied calmly, "There was too many for two of us and there would have been too many for three of us." He met Nick's eye. "If you had gotten off that helo you'd have been in the same boat as Gibbs and I."

He hesitated for a second as images of what had happened to them flashed through his mind. Gibbs being beaten by the crew for standing over him when he fell during the gauntlet. Gibbs being tortured by El Doctor while he was forced to watch. The look of guilt on Gibbs' face as Gibbs tried to comfort him and treat his injuries after he was on the receiving end in El Doctor's room. Gibbs being waterboarded by El Jefe...

He swallowed hard.

"I'm glad you weren't," he said so softly that he was pretty sure Torres didn't hear him over the street noise.

"You don't know that," Torres objected confirming his suspicion.

"There was nothing you could have done, Nick," he countered. "I had two months to think it through and I'm sure that we couldn't have done anything that would have changed the outcome. Someone in that village tipped off the RAC, which is why…"

"They came early and in force," Nick replied. "Yeah, I figured that too."

"We ran out of ammo almost immediately," he said. "And I know you were low too." Nick frowned but didn't contradict him. "We tried to give them the slip and get into the woods but there were just too many of them. They caught us within minutes."

"You shouldn't feel guilty," he said when Torres looked at him guiltily. "I made my choice."

"And I'm saying you shouldn't have had to!" Nick retorted as he stood up. "I should have seen what Gibbs was doing before you. I should have jumped off that helo and you should have stayed with the boys. Delilah shouldn't have had to worry for two months that her husband was dead while I sat here unable to do anything to find you!"

"You couldn't have known that Gibbs was going to remain behind," he said.

"You did!" Torres replied incredulously. "Bishop knew as soon as I told her what happened. Delilah knew!" Torres looked at him. "Hell, even _Jimmy_ knew."

"They've been around a little longer than you," he replied. "You haven't even been on the team a year yet." Torres frowned. "Nick, I've worked with Gibbs now for fifteen years," he continued. "I may not always know what he's thinking but when it comes to kids and protecting his team, there's nothing Gibbs won't do."

"Yeah but that doesn't mean he would stay behind," Torres objected as he retook his seat.

"The RAC was too close on our heels," he said. "Gibbs was distracting them. I had to use what little time he was buying us to get the helo off the ground."

"But why didn't you tell me to go help Gibbs instead of jumping out of that helicopter?" Nick asked. "I'd have done it and you would have been here for the last two months with Delilah and not…" Nick cut himself off.

"Getting beat up and starved by a bunch of pissed off militants?" he supplied.

"Yeah. That," Nick said. "I would have gone," Nick offered.

"I know," he replied. "But I would never ask you to do something I wouldn't be willing to do myself," he replied firmly. "I'm your senior field agent and I protect my people too. Just like Gibbs is the team lead and he protects us."

"And that means I don't get to protect you?" Nick asked. "Because I'm the new guy?"

"I know you've got my back," he replied sincerely. "And you have protected me. But this time, I knew it was my turn to protect you and those kids."

"You just wanted your superhero moment," Nick said dryly.

Taken off guard, he snorted then groaned as his ribs protested.

"Cracked rib," he replied to Nick's questioningly look. "Believe me, I didn't really _want_ a superhero moment. I'd have much preferred that we all made it on helo and back to the states two months ago. But it didn't work out that way."

"And you went after Gibbs," Nick said.

"We've been through so much," he said as he looked towards the dining room. He could still remember the look on Gibbs' face when he gave him the watch. And when he realized that Gibbs had engraved a priceless family heirloom, he had been at a loss for words. "He's been a mentor and at times like a father to me. I'd have never forgiven myself if I had left him behind to face the RAC alone. So yeah, I went after Gibbs. And I knew that it was probably going to get me killed. And yeah, I thought about Delilah and the baby. All before I jumped off that helo."

"And you went anyway," Nick said. He nodded. "Because you are loyal and courageous and I'm proud to have you as my senior field agent." He smiled slightly at the praise. "And it's impressive as hell that you managed to escape and kill the leader of the RAC all at once." Taken off guard, he snorted. "Seriously, that's pretty badass."

"Funny, I never thought anyone would describe me as badass," he replied set his empty glass onto the coffee table. "I look back at all the close calls I've had and it's still pretty surreal. I mean, I know it happened and I was there. But if you had known me as a probie…"

He thought back to the first time he met Gibbs. He had been nervous and excited and more than a little sick to his stomach. Up until then, he'd just been pushing paperwork at Norfolk and living up to his father's low expectations of an NCIS Agent.

But then a case came in that involved a body. And as soon as he saw that the body had been in acid to dispose of it, he knew that they needed the resources of the Major Case Response Team to handle it.

Agent Gibbs had a reputation among the agents at Norfolk and to be honest, he had been reminded of his father a bit, which made him even more nervous on top of a queasy stomach. He had never seen anything like that and even after all these years, it was still one of the more grotesque crime scenes he had witnessed. It had taken every ounce of willpower to keep himself from puking. He was sure that he hadn't impressed Gibbs at their first meeting.

Bad first impression aside, it hadn't been enough for Gibbs to throw him off the case. And while Gibbs and Kate continued the investigation aboard the sub, he worked the landward investigation with Tony. It had been a bit bumpy at first since Tony was treating him like the green probie that he was. But after it was all over, he had been proud of his contributions that had helped to save the crew of the Philadelphia and ultimately Gibbs and Kate.

"Let's just say, I've come a long way since then," he said.

"I don't suppose there was any way Gibbs would have done something different?" Torres asked. He looked at Nick incredulously. "Right. I didn't think so."

"Look, Nick," he said. "We can't change what happened," he said. "We made the best plan we could have with the information we had at hand."

"Didn't work," Nick muttered sourly. "And look what happened to you!"

"But I'm still standing," he said. Nick looked at him. "Well, sitting." He took a deep breath. "Look, Nick, I wish things would have turned out different and that Gibbs and I had gotten on the helo with you. Believe me, that last two months weren't my idea of fun." Nick snorted. "And I am grateful that you didn't have to go through what we did. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

"You have enemies?" Nick asked incredulously. "I mean, I ask only because you're such a nice guy. I have a hard time picturing you having any enemies."

"Did you ever think that's because they're all in the ground?" he asked with a straight face.

Nick looked at him critically, trying to figure out if he was being truthful or not.

"You know," Nick said finally. "That's something that's going to linger." He shrugged and smiled slightly. "Now I'm beginning to think that Bishop wasn't lying when she told me all those stories about you escaping Somali terrorists, Russian mercenaries and Sudanese militants. I thought she was just trying to make us feel better about your chances of still being alive."

"Those stories are all true," he said. "Scout's honor." Nick snorted. "No really, I was a scout. Well, a Webelos."

Torres snorted again. "You might be the luckiest man I know," Nick said.

"Not just luck," he said. "I also had partners who never gave up on me. And despite orders to the contrary and with no evidence that we were alive, you, Bishop and Reeves never gave up on us. We might have escaped our cell, but we'd have never gotten off that ship without your help. I know that meant a lot to Delilah and it meant a lot to me and Gibbs."

"You didn't know we were looking for you," Nick said as he sipped his lemonade. He looked at Nick incredulously. "Right, you had to believe that we were still looking for you."

"We knew that it was only a matter of time before you found us," he replied. "We knew we only had to keep ourselves alive long enough for that to happen."

"Except _you_ found us," Nick said dryly.

"What? Did you expect us to wait?" he asked wryly.

"I'd been disappointed if you had," Nick replied. "But you deprived me of my superhero moment. Busting down the door of that steamer and rescuing my boss and senior field agent? It'd have been great for my career."

He rolled his eyes at Nick's poor attempt at humor.

Suddenly Nick's phone rang.

"Torres," Nick said as he answered. "Almost. Send me the address and I'll meet you there."

"Got a case?" he asked as Nick hung up.

"Yeah," Nick replied as Ellie's text came through with the address. "No rest for the weary." He stood up and Tim mirrored him. "Don't worry, we'll hold down the fort until you can get back."

"It might be a while," he cautioned. "I did a treadmill stress test and it felt like I ran a marathon."

"However long it takes," Nick said sincerely. He nodded appreciatively.

"Thanks for stopping by," he said as they walked to the door. "And don't feel guilty about what I did. I've had a lot of time to think. Over the last two months and now over the last week. In spite of everything, I wouldn't change what I did."

"That's easier said than done," Nick replied. "But I'll try."

"Tell everyone I said hello," he said.

"I will," Nick replied. "And do the same with Delilah." Tim nodded. "Oh, and before I forget. You left something behind."

"At my desk?" he asked confused. Nick didn't reply as he reached into his pocket. He watched as Nick held up his hand, a small gold ring between his thumb and forefinger. He stared at it in disbelief.

"Is that?"

Nick dropped the ring into his palm.

"Pretty sure it is," Nick said. "Only geeks like you and Delilah would get binary inscribed inside their wedding bands."

He looked inside the band and saw the small tick marks inside. It wasn't true binary, but it was a code based on binary that he and Delilah had developed for fun.

"I didn't think I'd see this ever again," he said softly. "Where was it found?"

"Among the abandoned belongings of one of the militants on the ship," Nick replied. "Agent Taggart has been working with the Paraguayan authorities and she recovered it. Bishop was able to identify it from your binary code. It took a week of the Director twisting arms to get it back to the states. Star Wars?"

"Yeah," he said with a laugh.

He hadn't intended to quote Star Wars the first time Delilah said, 'I love you,' but he had been so happy to hear those words that he responded in typical Hans fashion with the words, 'I know.' He had hastily repeated the sentiment before they had a good laugh over his unintentional quote. It had since become a joke between them and they had inscribed their binary version into their rings.

"Better than Lord of the Rings," Nick muttered as he put the ring on. It was a little loose on his hand, but he didn't care. He was beyond happy to have his original ring back.

"Nick," he said sincerely. "Thanks."

"You have to thank Agent Taggart and Director Vance," Nick replied. "I'm just the messenger."

"Believe me, I will thank them," he said as looked at the ring on his hand. "But I appreciate that you're the one who brought it to me."

Nick nodded. "It's the least I could do," Nick said as he reached out and hugged him. "I'm glad you're ok, man."

"Yeah, me too," he replied as they let go.

"I should go before Bishop gets mad," Nick said. "You do _not_ want to see that. It's not a pretty sight."

He laughed.

"I bet," he replied. "Later."

After Nick left, he looked down at the ring in amazement. He couldn't believe how lucky he was that he had gotten his wedding band back.

But even as he stared at the ring, he couldn't help but wonder when that luck might run out.

He had dodged the bullet, sometimes literally, a lot since he joined Gibbs team.

Sure, he had grown as an agent. He wasn't the wet-behind-the-ears Probie who could barely shoot straight anymore. He was a skilled agent who could breach buildings against men and women who had been trained to fight for a living. He knew enough about military tactics that taking on a militant cell while vastly outnumbered wasn't certain death. He had fired his weapon and killed men in the line of duty.

But as much as his job counted on skill, it also required a healthy dose of luck. Luck had caused that terrorist to fire at him so he had already moved out of the line of Ari's sniper fire. Luck didn't save Kate that day. Luck meant that the camera had been blown off his head instead of the round finding the mark between his eyes. Luck was the shard of glass to the gut not causing any serious damage when the Navy Yard was bombed even as some of his colleagues paid with their lives.

Suddenly feeling weak at the knees, he knew he had to sit down. But instead of the soft couch, he made his way to the wall and sat down with his back to the windows. The hard surfaces felt familiar and comforting after so much time spent in the barren cell.

Drawing his knees up, he took several deep, shuddering breaths as images of his close calls, punctuated by the images of he and Gibbs suffering at the hands of El Doctor flashed through his head.

He clenched his left hand and felt the ring bite into his hand.

Slowly, images of Delilah crept into his mind. Meeting her for the first time at that bar. Having to stand her up because a case took him out of town. The fear that she wouldn't want to see him again and the joy when things worked out. Growing closer, laughing at geeky jokes and comic books. Their trip to Miami as they really started to get serious.

But then there was the bombing at the Gala and for a moment the darkness crept back in. He opened his hand and rubbed the ring with his right hand until he recalled talking with her after she woke from her second surgery. He remembered with pride as she recovered from her injury and reclaimed her life and her independence. Stretching her skills professionally as she went to Dubai but best of all, coming home and moving in with him.

But that nothing in comparison to the day that he proposed to Delilah in the elevator at NCIS and she accepted. Planning their wedding wasn't exactly fun but their unplanned wedding after they learned she was pregnant with their child was pure joy. Sharing that day with his friends had been special to him and he had been deeply touched by Gibbs' personal gift.

"Breathe, Tim," he said as he mentally read the inscription on the watch and remembered Gibbs' calming words and presence in the hospital earlier that day.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. He repeated the simple motion several times until the panic and the worry abated. He opened his eyes and looked around his apartment, calm once again.

Those feelings of worry and fear weren't gone, and he had a feeling they would be back again. But until then, he would just breathe.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** First of all, I want to thank everyone for the kind reviews. I really appreciate each of them! Just a couple of things to say about this chapter. We didn't get to see much of Gibbs or Tim's session with Dr. Grace but it's clear that they're handling their time in Paraguay differently. Tim, who always overthinks things, had so much to worry about. Delilah, the baby, being a good father (unlike his own) that his mortality and fears of the future weighed on him. He trapped himself in a worry feedback loop. I tried to show the start of it here along with the seeds of what eventually breaks that loop (namely Delilah and his demonstrated ability to handle all the things life has thrown at him).

I also tried to find a logical reason as to how Tim and Delilah could be living in Tony's old apartment with twins when Tony moved out specifically because it was a one bedroom apartment and he didn't have room for Tali. I have a feeling I might have thought about it more than the show writers...


	6. Matter over Mind

**Chapter 6 – Matter over Mind**

Sighing, he closed and rubbed his eyes. After reading the same page at least three times, he had to admit that he didn't have the focus needed even to read one of his favorite books.

Setting aside the well-worn copy of _Shane._ He looked around his living room.

It wasn't quite dark yet, but it was dark enough that he had turned on the light to read. After today's efforts at physical therapy, he had been too sore to work in his basement, but he also knew he wasn't tired enough to get a restful night's sleep if he went to bed now. He had hoped to fall asleep reading his book but it didn't look like that was going to be the case.

After everything that happened, it wasn't surprising that he was suffering from nightmares. Too much had happened to him for him to expect that there wouldn't be lasting effects. Most of the time, he could shake off the dreams and go back to sleep. Although to be honest, he knew he never fell into a deep sleep afterwards. But sometimes, the dreams were disturbing enough that he got up and spent the remainder of the night in his basement rather than risk returning to El Doctor's room.

Sitting up, he winced as his tired and sore muscles protested.

In addition to the regular doctor appointments, he had just finished his first full week of physical therapy and while it was good to be active again, it definitely wasn't easy on his body, especially since he still was recovering from the injuries suffered on the ship. He did find it ironic that he had spent two months being tortured and now, here he was, willingly submitting himself to _more_ torture in the name of getting healthy.

Leaning forward, he grabbed the clicker for his tv and turned it on. After flipping through the channels, he found a baseball game and settled in to watch. After a moment, he lay back down and listened to the announcers as they called the game.

It wasn't an exciting game but then again, he wasn't that interested in the outcome. It was just background noise that drowned out the other unpleasant thoughts in his head.

Eventually he dozed off, but his dreams were filled with voices. Some were low and calm while at other times he heard shouting and groans. There was a constant drone, almost like a buzzing noise. He wasn't sure what was going on. He wasn't even sure where he was. He just knew that something was coming. Something bad…

Suddenly there was a loud crack of a bat followed by the roar of the crowd.

Jolting, he half sat up and looked towards the sound of the bat. But when he realized it came from the television and not a bat-wielding captor, he collapsed to the pillow and let out a breath.

Focusing on the game, he realized that it was late. The game had been scoreless and had gone into extra innings. Someone had hit a homerun and the crowd was cheering appreciatively as he rounded the bases.

He shook his head in irritation. That was probably the worst effect from Paraguay. He was jumpy. Noises startled him far more than they ought to. It had been a survival instinct on the ship to be alert at all times but now that he was home, he was finding it hard to turn off that instinct.

Sitting up, he turned off the tv. Even if he was annoyed to have been jolted awake, he was grateful that it had happened before the dream got more detailed.

Suddenly his stomach growled.

Glancing at the nearest clock, he realized it was after eleven. He hadn't eaten since almost one o'clock.

Getting up, he made his way into the kitchen and opened his fridge. Inside, there were neat stacks of Tupperware courtesy of Abby. When she found out they had been starved and needed a strict diet to get them back to health, she had taken it upon herself to prepare easy meals for him.

Each container was labeled a yellow post-it that had the ingredients and a small doodle. He wasn't sure what half of the ingredients were, but they mostly tasted good. And even if they didn't, he ate them anyway. He knew Abby would have followed the dietary restrictions to the letter and he wasn't going to turn down a prepared meal after wearing himself out at physical therapy.

But as he looked at the containers, he knew he didn't want to eat what Abby had provided. He really wanted a steak, baked potato and a beer, but those were still off limits for a while.

His stomach growled again.

Making up his mind, he shut the fridge and made his way to the front door. He grabbed his car keys from the dish and went outside.

After he locked the door, he paused at the edge of his porch and took a deep breath. The night was warm and fragrant.

Wood smoke. Someone was having a backyard campfire undoubtedly with s'mores. Fresh cut grass. His neighbor had been cutting his grass when he got home from the PT appointment earlier today. There was also the light scent of asters from his other next-door neighbor.

If his stomach hadn't growled again, he would have been tempted to sit on his porch and take in the comforting scents of late summer.

Suddenly he realized how strange it would look if his neighbors found him standing on his front stoop smiling as broadly as he was. And if anyone asked, they'd think he was going crazy when he told that he was just enjoying the smell of the night air.

Chuckling, he made his way to his truck and started the engine. He had caught himself enjoying the smallest things since he got home two weeks ago.

Sunlight, fresh air, his woodworking, showers, indoor plumbing, privacy…

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't talked to McGee since he had gotten home. He had been so focused on himself and his immediate recovery after coming home that he hadn't given a second thought to checking in on Tim.

He knew Tim was a grown man capable taking care of himself and of course, Tim had Delilah to keep an eye on him. And both Abby and Ducky had visited McGee since his return home and they had reported that Tim was doing well. But after spending every minute with Tim for the last two months, he should have checked on his younger agent before now.

It was too late for that now. He made a mental note to check in with Tim tomorrow and drove out of his driveway. He paused at the next stop sign to roll down a window before he allowed autopilot to take him to the one place he knew would be open this late.

And when he reached the diner, he found himself grinning and wondering why it had taken him so long to come to his favorite place to eat.

Granted, he couldn't drink much more than a cup of coffee without getting shaky and most of the comfort foods that they offered weren't on his diet plan. But just the sight and smells of the diner were comforting.

Turning off the truck, he made his way to the diner and stepped inside, pausing to savor the smell of coffee, French fries and meatloaf.

"Gibbs!"

Looking to his left, he saw Elaine setting an order onto a table with two police officers on their meal break.

"Hey Elaine," he said smiling broadly.

She hurried over to him and after a moment's hesitation, she hugged him. He chuckled even as he returned the gesture. He wasn't much of a hugger and while he wouldn't consider Elaine a friend – they never spoke outside of the diner – he was happy to see that she was working tonight.

"Sorry," she said as she pulled back and tried to compose herself. "But after…" She trailed off. "When you didn't come in for a while, I got worried. I hadn't heard anything on the news, but your team wasn't coming in either. It took a while to find out what happened. I was glad to hear you had been found."

"Makes two of us," he said with a chuckle. "Glad to be back home."

Elaine relaxed slightly and smiled as she looked him over. Most of his visible wounds had healed with the exception of the split cheek. And after a shave and a haircut, there wasn't much about him that would tell you that he had been held prisoner for two months. His clothes were still a little loose but that might be the only hint that something wasn't quite right.

"Surprised it took you so long to stop in," Elaine said.

He shrugged. "Surprised me too," he replied. "Fixing that now."

Elaine smiled warmly. "Take a seat anywhere and I'll be right with you."

Nodding, he took a seat at one of the booths in the middle of the diner and sat looking towards the door. He had barely settled in when Elaine came over with a cup and a pot of coffee.

He held out his hand to stop her from filling the mug. She looked at him questioningly and he saw her eyes flicked to his damaged hand. Ok, so there were still a few signs he hadn't been on vacation for the last two months.

"Decaf," he said. She looked at him in surprise. "Two months without coffee…"

"Say no more," Elaine said as she hurried away and returned with the coffee pot topped with the orange handle to indicate decaf coffee. "Never thought I'd see the day where Leroy Jethro Gibbs drank decaf coffee."

Chuckling again, he replied, "I'm working my way back up to the real stuff. But after two months without any coffee, even decaf tastes great."

"I'll remember that when you're coming in here for four cups of the high-test stuff to go in a few weeks," she said with a smile. "Know what you want?"

He didn't bother with the menu. Even after two months away, he still knew it by heart.

"Grilled chicken club," he said even though he wanted the meatloaf and mashed potatoes. "Mixed vegetables."

"Coming right up," Elaine said.

As Elaine walked away, he wrapped his hands around the mug and took a deep breath of the pungent coffee. After taking a sip, he smiled. Even if it was decaf, it was still diner coffee and it tasted better than any other coffee, even his homemade stuff.

He savored the beverage until Elaine returned with his dinner.

"Enjoy," she said as she set the plate down with one hand and topped off his coffee with the other.

"Thanks," he replied as he started to eat. But before he was halfway through, he started to fill up. As good as the food was, he just didn't have the ability to finish his plate.

When Elaine returned to check on him, he looked at her with a shrug.

"Everything ok?" she asked, worried.

"Food was fine," he replied. He wasn't sure what Elaine knew about him or if she knew he had been held prisoner. It wasn't information he planned to share. "Been eating smaller meals lately."

"Want the rest to go?" she asked. He nodded. Knowing how things went these days, he might have that for a three am snack when he next woke up. "More coffee?" she asked.

He looked at the cup. He felt better after eating and he was starting to feel tired enough that he might actually sleep. He knew he should go home but the diner was like his front porch. It was warm, full of comforting smells and a more reasonable place to linger and enjoy being home. And he wasn't quite ready to go home to an empty house yet.

"Sure," he said.

"Be right back," Elaine said with a smile.

He nodded. Elaine had just returned with a box, the check and more coffee when the door opened and Bishop entered the diner. She looked around and jolted when she saw him.

"Be right back," Elaine said as she took his money and the check.

"Gibbs," Bishop said warmly. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

He glanced at his watch. It was after midnight.

"Me neither," he replied evenly as he motioned for her to sit.

Bishop smiled warmly as she sat across from him, noting the to go box. "Hazards of being boss," she replied. "How do you manage to do all the paperwork on top of running an investigation?"

He smiled enigmatically. He had his own system which he doubted would work for anyone else.

"After two months, figured you'd have sorted it out by now," he said instead.

Bishop sighed dramatically. "I wish," she replied. "To be fair, I wasn't boss the whole time. I hadn't figured out how to be Senior Field Agent before Alex left and suddenly, I was boss." She looked him over. "You look much better than the last time I saw you."

He laughed. "Considering the last time you saw me," he said as he sipped his coffee. "That's not hard to believe."

Bishop shrugged as Elaine returned with his change.

"Here you go Gibbs," Elaine said. He handed her a generous tip which she took with a nod. "Nice to see you Ellie."

"Same here," Ellie said, perking up.

"What can I get you?" Elaine asked.

"Oh," Bishop said. "I'll take the French toast with berries, a side of bacon, hash browns, coffee and a chocolate milkshake." Elaine eyed her after the last item. "It was a rough day. Comfort food and an indulgence."

"Sorry to hear that," Elaine said as she walked away.

He waited patiently as Elaine walked away and when she was out of earshot, Ellie spoke.

"Custody case between a marine and her soon-to-be ex-husband," Ellie said. "Her nine-year old son adores his father and ran away to find him. We spent most of the day trying to figure out if it was custodial interference, kidnapping or something worse. When he showed up at his father's new apartment, we had to take him back to his mom. The dad didn't argue. Mom has full custody for now, but his son didn't want to leave."

"Those cases are never easy," he mused.

"No," Bishop said. "But you probably don't want to talk about that or work. How are you feeling?" She jolted as she realized how personal of a question that was. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want…"

"Sore. Tired," he said before she could trip over herself any further. "Pretty sure I might prefer the ship to PT."

Bishop looked at him, unsure what to say.

"Are you joking?" she asked uncertainly.

Laughing, he replied. "Yeah," he replied. "Figured that one would be obvious."

"Sorry," Bishop said abashed. "I'm not sure I've ever heard you tell a joke before." He sipped his coffee, smiling slightly. "You're already in PT? Does that mean you're coming back to work soon?"

"Not sure," he replied. "Need to be cleared by the doctors and they never give you a straight answer. Could be a while yet." He looked at her. "Eager to go back to being the junior field agent again?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "I mean, it's been a great experience. I really can appreciate everything that you and Tim do at work. But I'm not quite ready to do this full-time yet. I still have a lot to learn."

"Sometimes the best way to learn is to do," he said mildly.

"I know," Bishop replied. "But I think I need to get some experience doing the jobs between junior field agent and boss first." She looked at his to go box. "You're not going to eat your dinner?"

"Already did," he replied as Elaine arrived with Bishop's meal. "Leftovers."

"Oh," Bishop said as she accepted her food.

"It's going to be a while before I have anything close to your appetite," he said as Bishop ate a piece of bacon.

"Oh," she said as she looked down at her plate. "I haven't eaten since like two this afternoon." He didn't feel the need to tell her that he hadn't eaten since lunch either. "I'm surprised you came to the diner. I mean considering how much food Abby dropped off at your place. She told us all about the meal prep she did for you and McGee."

"If you consider quinoa, sweet potato and goji berries, whatever those are, to be food," he muttered.

"Actually, that sounds delicious," Bishop said wistfully.

"You want some?" he asked with a laugh. "I've got a whole fridge full."

"Is it really that bad?" Bishop asked worriedly. "McGee tried to offer me some when I saw him the other day too."

"Not bad," he said even as he wondered if Bishop would elaborate on McGee's condition. He almost asked but instead, he said, "Just not my idea of food. I'd prefer a steak and fries."

"Ah," Bishop said. "And that's why you're here." She motioned to his to go box. "Even if you can't eat everything."

"No," he said as he sipped his coffee. "Chicken club and vegetables." Bishop looked at him surprised. "Gotta follow the rules if I want to get back to work any time soon."

"That's what McGee said," Bishop replied with a laugh as she dug into her food. "And whatever he doesn't eat, Delilah will finish for him."

He smiled. He remembered those days. Shannon often ate her own dinner and half of his when she had been pregnant with Kelly.

"Then maybe I ought to ship some over to Tim," he said.

Bishop looked up from her food. "I don't think he'd mind a visit," she said. "He asked about you and if I'd seen you yet." Bishop looked at him questioningly. "He said he hadn't heard from you since you got back two weeks ago."

"Not avoiding him," he replied. "Been busy with doctors and PT." From her expression, he wasn't sure Bishop bought that excuse. "And gotta sleep sometime. Pretty sure Tim is in the same boat."

"At least it's not literally this time," Bishop muttered into her food. He frowned for a moment but masked his expression before she looked up. "Were you making another joke?" He didn't answer. He _hadn't_ been joking this time but he wasn't opposed to letting her think that. "Torres isn't going to believe that you're this funny."

"I have a sense of humor," he said affronted but still amused.

"Yeah but we never usually get to see it!" she retorted.

Frowning, Bishop lowered her head and focused on eating. He wasn't upset like she seemed to think. But considering the rate at which she was eating, he figured she wasn't thinking clearly due to hunger. He'd let her eat before striking up the conversation again.

He took everything in as Bishop ate. The two officers finished eating their meal and left. Aside from a trucker sitting at the counter, he and Bishop were the only people in the diner.

He had just finished his coffee when Elaine appeared at his elbow.

"More coffee?" Elaine asked.

"Sure," Bishop replied. Elaine filled her cup with regular coffee and looked at him.

"Didn't take long for you to get back to your coffee habit," Bishop said as he nodded. But when Elaine filled his cup with the coffee from the decaf pot, Bishop said, "Oh. Never mind."

"Thanks," he said as he took the cup in hand.

"Decaf?" Bishop asked.

"I know," Elaine said with a chuckle. "Never thought I'd see the day!"

Bishop looked at him as Elaine walked away.

"You quit caffeine and try to start up again," he said with a shrug.

"Say no more," she said sagely. "I tried that once during college and it did not end well." He smiled. Bishop looked at him for a moment. "It really is great to see you Gibbs. I didn't realize how much I missed you and McGee until I saw you both. I mean, I knew I missed you, but you know how you sometimes realize you missed something more than you thought you did once you get it back?" He stared at her, trying to wrap his head around that convoluted logic. "That didn't make any sense, did it?"

As he thought about, he realized that it _was_ a strange concept. How could you miss something more once you had it back?

But then he recalled what it felt like when he had deployed and returned home to Shannon and Kelly. The joy of being back with his family amplified the feelings of loss he had while deployed.

"Like coffee," he said with a sip.

"You missed it so much, you're willing to drink decaf?" Bishop asked. He nodded. "I'm sure you missed a lot of things these last two months."

He nodded again even as he wondered where this conversation might lead.

He had talked with Fornell that first day back but since then, he hadn't really felt the need to talk about Paraguay again.

Ducky had subtly tried to get him to talk about what happened but knowing Ducky's history with torture and Marcin Jerek, the man known also known as Mr. Pain, he didn't want to bring up bad memories for his friend.

And while Abby hadn't asked about what had happened, he wasn't about to open up to her either. She had too big of a heart and he didn't want to break it by telling her what pain and suffering he and McGee had endured. She knew it had been bad based on what little McGee had said but she didn't have details. Her fussing over him, his appearance and his diet was her way of dealing with what happened.

While he had his reasons for not opening up to his friends, he also didn't want to bring up bad memories for himself. It was hard enough reliving the experience in his dreams, he wasn't exactly eager to willingly relive what had happened. And he definitely didn't want to share what had happened to him with Bishop.

Ellie looked at him and asked, "Is it wrong that I've been wondering how I would have handled Paraguay?" She hastily added, "It's not like I actually _know_ what happened to you. I mean, I have a pretty good guess that it was bad. But it's not like I know any details. Actually, I'm pretty sure I don't want to know any details."

Not sure what to say to her, he looked at his coffee.

"What I mean is," she said. "It's not lost on me that you asked me to go to Paraguay before Torres took my place." He looked up at her. "And it made sense. It still makes sense. But I can't help thinking that I could have been on the ground with you and if I had, maybe things would have been different?"

He blinked and for a split second, he saw an image of Bishop secured to that metal table with El Doctor standing over her, a look of fear and horror on her face.

He shook his head to clear away that thought. He didn't want to go there.

"Because, let's face it," Bishop continued, oblivious to his thoughts. "Torres is the kind of guy to want to shoot first and ask questions later. I keep thinking that if I had been there, I could have had a better plan."

"You don't think we went through all our options before settling in on our plan?" he asked evenly.

Bishop's jaw dropped as she realized what she had insinuated.

"Gibbs, I didn't mean that you didn't have a good plan," she said. "I mean, you, McGee, Torres and Dean, you know your tactics and had better information from Dean's recon. If there had been a better way, you would have taken it."

He had spent two months going over things in his head and he was sure that they had made the best plan given their circumstances. But as he thought about it, had Bishop been with them he might have considered another plan that didn't involve a head-on attack…

She jolted. "You _would_ have made a different plan, wouldn't you?" she asked accusingly. "Because I'm a woman? Rule forty-four or whatever?"

 _First things first, hide the women and children?_

He blinked and looked at his half-empty coffee mug. He knew he wasn't sleeping enough and without his usual jolt from coffee, he was confused. How on earth did she think rule forty-four would have applied to his decision-making process?

"Hold on," he said as he stood up. He left a confused Bishop as he took his coffee cup up to the counter and walked behind it.

"Everything ok Gibbs?" Elaine asked as she stepped out of the kitchen.

"Yeah," he said as he filled his cup with full-strength coffee. Despite how hot it was, he drank half the cup. Once the searing heat from the coffee wore off, he filled the cup with a mixture of decaf and full-strength coffee. "Just fine," he said as he returned to his seat.

"I see that," Elaine replied in amusement.

"Rule forty-four?" he asked as he sat down.

"Hide the women and children," she said as if it was obvious. "You'd have done something different to protect me." She looked at him defiantly. "I don't need protecting Gibbs. I thought I've proved that already."

"I know that," he replied evenly. "You're not…"

"Not a woman?" Bishop asked interrupting him. She looked at him expectantly. Normally, he would have been mad but this whole situation was absurd.

"You're putting words into my mouth," he said with a laugh.

It was probably his imagination but he was already feeling the jolt of caffeine.

"Ok," Bishop said. "Why doesn't it apply?"

"Because that rule was meant to protect those that couldn't protect themselves and that's not you," he replied. Bishop relaxed. "But I can't say it wouldn't have changed what we did." Ellie started to bristle again. "You play chess..."

"And different pieces on the board changes your strategy," she said. He nodded. "You know that doesn't help right?" Confused again, he looked at her expectantly. "Because maybe if I had been there, you and McGee wouldn't have been captured."

He shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not," he replied. "Can't change what happened. No use wondering 'what if.'"

She smiled wryly at him. "I can't help it. I'm an analyst, Gibbs. I'm always going over all the scenarios. It's how I learn."

He looked at Bishop. He could see the wheels turning in her head just like he had before. She had the same look on her face when she had quizzed him about going under cover and when she had been trying to figure out how to deal with shooting someone after joining his team. He preferred to learn by doing. Bishop learned by asking.

"Learn anything I ought to know?" he asked.

"That being boss is hard?" she asked. "And I'm not talking about the paperwork," she added hastily. "Making decisions that affect other people is hard. You had to decide if you were going to help those boys. It was the right thing to do, but it put you, Torres and McGee into danger. You had to weigh the risks versus the rewards and the potential consequences."

He nodded.

McGee liked to think that he hadn't hesitated to make the decision to help those kids, but it hadn't been that simple. From the moment they learned about the kidnapped boys, he had weighed his options. He knew they would be outnumbered, that it was a risky plan, and that the consequences of failure were high. And he also considered that Petty Officer Dean was injured, Torres had never been in a firefight like this and McGee had a pregnant wife at home.

It was one thing for him to make the decision to help those kids, but it was another decision as to whether he ought to involve McGee and Torres. His gut instinct had been to order them to take Dean to safety. But even before he said anything, he could see that McGee wasn't going to entertain the idea of letting him take on the RAC alone. He had asked for suggestions for the rescue mission instead, knowing that it might not end well.

He'd been in his job for long enough to know that his decisions had consequences. Sometimes he paid the price for his decisions. He had been shot at more times than he cared to count and hit a couple of those times. He'd been blown up twice, one of which nearly killed him. This time he had been captured by people who wanted to kill him. Although, now that he thought about it, this hadn't even been the first time that had happened!

He looked at his coffee.

If it had just been him suffering the consequences, that would have made his decision far easier. But he knew that wasn't always the case. Kate, Jenny, Paula, Dorney, Pacci, Mike. They all paid the price for his decisions. This time, Tim payed the price for his loyalty.

After they had been captured, he had tried to apologize to McGee but Tim hadn't let him. Like he had before the mission, Tim had reminded him that he was an NCIS agent and he knew that the job came with risks. He knew that, Torres knew that, Ellie knew that and so did Delilah. No one wanted to pay the price but they were willing.

They wanted to do the right thing too. They wanted to fight for the people that couldn't fight for themselves. He wasn't the only one willing to put himself into harm's way if it meant saving those boys.

"Just have to make the best decision you can," he replied finally. "With the information at hand. Some decisions are harder than others."

"Yeah," Bishop replied. "I get that."

Bishop fell silent as she toyed with the last of her milkshake. He watched as she pushed it aside and picked up her coffee cup. She sipped it and frowned. Suddenly she poured it into the remnants of her milkshake and stirred. He watched with mild fascination as she drank the concoction, clearly pleased with the combination.

"It had gone cold anyway," Bishop said in her defense when she saw his expression.

Sensing it was a good time to stop by, Elaine dropped by and handed Bishop her check. Ellie fished some money from her wallet and handed it to Elaine who took it after collecting Bishop's plate.

"More coffee?" Elaine asked.

"No," he replied. He was ready to go home. Ellie looked at him then shook her head.

"Be right back then," Elaine said as she left.

With the way she was staring at her milkshake, he could tell that Bishop had something else on her mind.

"Spit it out," he said.

"Huh?" Bishop asked as she looked at him.

"What's your question, Bishop?" he asked. "You've obviously got something else on your mind."

"Oh," she replied. "I was just thinking about what happened to you and McGee these last two months." He tensed. He didn't think she was going to ask for details, but you never knew what Bishop might be pondering. Sometimes what he thought she was thinking was completely different from what came out of her mouth. "You had to know you were going to be captured when you chose to stay behind. How'd you know?"

He looked at her, unsure of what she was asking. He hadn't expected to survive long after the helo lifted off. Even McGee had confessed that he hadn't expected to survive. Neither of them had expected to be taken alive.

"Know what?" he asked.

"How'd you know you could handle being held captive?" she asked as she looked at him. "I guess you knew because you'd gone through SERE training?"

Search, evasion, resistance and escape training. He _had_ gone through SERE training in the marines. But that had been years ago, and he hadn't been captured…

But even if he had, he wasn't sure that the training would have been much good. In the training, you knew that nothing bad was really going to happen to you. The men acting as your captors were just that: acting. There wasn't a real threat of bodily harm or death. And at worst, it would be over within a few days.

But in the hands of the RAC, every day was filled with pain, hunger and fear that he would have to watch McGee die. Or worse, that he would die and leave McGee alone to face their captors. There was no end in sight. There was only surviving for the next day. Sometimes it took everything just to survive to the next breath.

He glanced at Bishop. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at her milkshake, but she was a million miles away... or more accurately, she was four thousand, four hundred fifty-one miles away. She was trying to put herself in their shoes and figure out if she could have survived being captured by the RAC. Afterall, he had initially meant to take her with them.

And not for the first time, he pictured Bishop in El Doctor's room. El Doctor would have used her against him and McGee. And without a doubt, he was sure that he and Tim would have done anything to protect her. Because knowing their captors, it would have been so much worse for her…

"You don't know," he said softly drawing her attention. "You don't know until you have to."

"How'd you do it?" she asked. "Endure it all?" She jolted as she realized that she had asked a deeply personal question. "I'm sorry. It isn't any of my business…"

"You decide you want to live," he replied. "For whatever reason that helps you through the next day, the next hour, the next minute."

Bishop nodded.

"Tim wanted to get back to Delilah," she said as he nodded.

She looked at him questioningly. He could see how much Bishop wanted to ask him why he fought so hard to get home.

Fornell had rightly guessed that he fought to survive so that he could ensure that Tim returned home. But he didn't feel the need to share his guilt that Tim had thrown himself into danger for him with Bishop. He didn't want to hear that she would have done the same thing as McGee. He didn't want to have to imagine what things had been like if El Doctor had gotten his hands on her. He needed to give her a different reason that wouldn't provoke more questions.

"Spite," he said sharply.

She blinked and then smiled.

"You weren't going to give them the satisfaction of breaking," she said. He nodded. It wasn't the whole truth but it also wasn't a lie either. Neither of them had wanted to give the RAC the satisfaction of seeing them break. "Well you didn't. And you escaped," Bishop said. " _And_ you took down the RAC in the process." She smiled at him wryly. "As if I already didn't have big enough boss shoes to fill."

Taken off guard, he laughed.

Bishop looked at him and smiled.

"It's really good to have you home Gibbs," she said genuinely.

He glanced around the diner and smiled at Elaine. She smiled in return before focusing on the group of college kids coming in for a late-night meal.

"Yeah," he said appreciatively. "It's good to be back." Suddenly Bishop yawned. He looked at her. "You ought to go home. You've got to be at work in." He glanced at his watch. It was after one in the morning. "Six hours not counting driving home and back again."

Bishop looked at her watch and shrugged.

"I now fully understand why you drink so much coffee," she said as they stood.

"Nah," he said with a chuckle. "The coffee is because I like it." He picked up his box. "Work smarter, not harder Bishop."

"You know," she said. "Tony used to say that all the time and I still haven't figured it out yet."

He smiled slightly. Bishop wasn't one to take the easy road.

"You'll figure it out eventually," he said as they left the diner.

"Probably right about the time you come back to work," she said with a laugh. "But that's because you and Tim will take half the work off my desk." He shrugged. "And since you're technically not my boss right now." She leaned in and hugged him. He accepted the gesture without a word. "We… I'm really glad you're ok Gibbs. I was really worried I'd never see you again."

"You're not the only one," he replied as he pulled back.

"If you need anything," she said. He nodded. "Good night, Gibbs."

"Night Bishop," he said as he made his way to his truck.

By the time he reached his house, he was tired enough that he didn't bother climbing the stairs. Instead, he kicked off his shoes and made for his couch. He fell asleep but soon his dreams were disjointed and disturbing.

They weren't dreams of anything that had happened on the ship. But they all were the same. He was tied to that damn ring in the ceiling while he was forced to watch El Doctor hurt his team. First it was Tim, then it was Torres and Bishop.

He woke with a start and looked around his darkened living room, the visions from his dreams still vivid in his mind. Sitting up, he rubbed his face, wincing as he hit the cut on his cheek.

Even though he knew it wasn't real, he couldn't dismiss the dreams or the fear that came with them. He knew he should try to get back to sleep but he found himself getting up and making his way to the basement.

He didn't believe in the new age medicine that Abby espoused. The candles, oils and organic whatever all seemed like placebos to him.

But he couldn't deny the power of meditation to calm the mind. Only his idea of meditation wasn't siting on the floor and humming. It was the constant and steady repetitive motion of sanding his boat until the wood was smooth as silk or the deep focus needed to coax a once straight tree into a curve that would cut through the water.

Being able to focus on something physical helped him to drown out the bad memories and dreams that kept him from sleeping.

He picked up a sanding block and glanced at the nearest clock. Three thirty-seven. He'd barely gotten a couple hours sleep and he had a doctor's appointment at seven thirty.

He thought about going back upstairs to try to sleep but stepped up to his boat instead.

But before he started sanding, he looked at his hand and sighed. He might be home. He might be on the mend and working to return to his life before Paraguay. But given the nightmares that he couldn't shake, he was beginning to wonder if his finger that hadn't been the only thing broken by the RAC.

And for the first time in his life, he really considered that he might not be able to shake off what happened without help.

Ignoring that thought for now, he started to sand. He had only been back a couple weeks. He wasn't ready to ask for help yet. He still had time to try to sort things out on his own.

Wiping the sawdust from the plank, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The familiar smell of the wood brought him immediate comfort. Smiling, he opened his eyes and returned to the simple but repetitive work and soon the nightmares faded away.


	7. Mind over Matter

**Chapter 7 – Mind over Matter**

"Torres, are you set?" Gibbs asked.

"Hold on," Torres replied. "Hold on. Gibbs, the regulars are coming."

He glanced at Gibbs. As usual, his boss' expression didn't reveal what he was thinking.

"They're early," he said. He met Gibbs' eye. They couldn't wait any longer if their plan was going to work.

"We're blowing the trucks," Gibbs said.

A second later, Gibbs pushed the button. The first truck blew and as soon as he pushed the button on his remote, the second truck went up.

"Bring in the helo now," he said into the satellite phone before he pocketed the device.

He and Gibbs stood and took aim along the road to the camp. He heard gunfire but remained steady. As soon as the approaching trucks were within range, he and Gibbs opened fire until they took fire from the man standing in the pickup bed with the truck mounted machine gun.

The sound of the heavy caliber bullets striking the earth behind him was disconcerting, but he held steady until the shooting subsided. Gibbs stood and took out the gunner while he took aim at two men who had disembarked the truck. Two quick shots and the men were knocked from their feet.

"Pull back," Gibbs said.

Knowing that Gibbs had his back, he took off running for the helo extraction site. As he neared the clearing, he found a tree that provided good cover and turned to cover Gibbs' retreat. He was relieved to find his boss not far behind him.

Gibbs took up firing position behind a tree and took aim at the oncoming militants. They both fired, forcing the militants to slow up and take cover.

Movement caught his eye but when he looked to his left, he saw it was Torres with the boys. Torres was in the lead with Dean and the kids following.

"Go!" Gibbs shouted over the noise of the gunfire and the helicopter coming in for a landing. "I got this!"

He had no intention of leaving Gibbs behind until he saw one of the boys fall.

Without thinking, he rushed into the open, aware that bullets were flying uncomfortably close past him.

"I got you! Come on," he said as he grabbed the boy, hauling him to his feet, before they both ran towards the helo.

The terrain was rough and difficult to navigate even without the incoming gunfire. He ran as fast as he could, but he could still feel the militants getting closer. When they broke through the trees, he saw the helo on the ground just across a small stream. Ricardo was standing by the helo with his arms open, shouting for his son but the words were lost in the noise from the chopper.

They rushed to the helo, a crewman hurrying them inside while Torres paused to serve as rear guard. He jumped into the helo and turned around to survey their situation.

Everyone was on the helo except Gibbs who was standing at the edge of the forest. He saw Gibbs shout, but his words were lost in the wind. But his motion for the helo to take off was heard loud and clear.

"All right," he said. "Take off! If the copter blows, everyone dies." The pilot nodded, and he turned his attention back to the woods. Suddenly he saw Gibbs draw his side arm and turn around.

Without question, he knew Gibbs wasn't going to try to make it to the helo. Gibbs was too far away, and he was turning to make a last stand, to try to hold off the oncoming militants to give them time to escape. The chopper was armored but at close range it would be vulnerable to small arms fire. And they were taking fire. He heard a few sharp pings as bullets struck the side of the helicopter.

Gibbs was giving the militants another target, another threat, that they would have to deal with if they wanted to get any closer to the chopper. But if he stayed behind, Gibbs would be severely outnumbered, and his boss would be overwhelmed and killed.

He blinked and saw images of Delilah holding the blurry sonogram image, a broad smile on her face. Then he saw her in her wedding gown at their apartment and the joy they had sharing their marriage with their friends.

But when he opened his eyes again, he saw Gibbs still at the edge of the woods. His boss had saved his life countless times and had helped him to become the man he was today. He couldn't leave Gibbs behind to face certain death.

Decision made, he jumped off the helo and said, "Nick, you got 'em!"

He heard Nick say something, but his words were lost as the helo's engines revved up for takeoff. He ran towards the woods, struggling to stay on his feet as the downdraft nearly pushed him over. As he crossed the stream, he realized that his rifle was out of ammunition. He quickly pulled the shoulder strap over his head and threw the weapon into the brush.

He drew his sidearm and took aim at the men that were firing at the helo.

His first shot took down one of the militants and alerted Gibbs that he wasn't alone. Together they advanced into the woods to gain more cover.

Knowing that he had limited ammo, he took his shots carefully. Compared to the rifle, he was far more accurate with the handgun and with grim satisfaction, he saw most of his targets fall until he ran out of ammo.

They took cover behind a tree and quickly reloaded.

Gibbs looked at him and if they had more time, he was sure his boss would have yelled at him. But instead, he looked around and motioned for him to run parallel to the stream and away from the militants. They had to get deeper into the forest if they hoped to escape capture and certain death.

Nodding, he took off. He ran with Gibbs on his heels, firing at militants as they appeared.

Without the sound of the helo, the forest was strangely hushed even with their ongoing firefight. He heard the angry hiss of bullets flying by his head and the small thumping noises as they embedded in trees as he ran deeper into the woods. He heard the sharp report of his weapon as he took down any target that presented itself and the horrifying click as he ran out of bullets.

Reaching a downed tree, he took cover just as Gibbs joined him.

"I'm out," he said as he replaced his weapon in its holster.

"Same," Gibbs replied as they looked around.

The forest seemed empty and worryingly devoid of sounds. There was no more gunfire, no shouting from angry militants, no sounds of searching. Strangely the lack of noise worried him more than the gunfire and bullets they had just dodged.

Gibbs replaced his weapon but drew a tactical knife. "Keep going," Gibbs whispered.

Realizing that his knife was his only means of protection now, he drew his own tactical knife from the hidden sheath at the small of his back. He hoped that it didn't come down to hand-to-hand combat though.

Keeping low, he pressed on, deeper into the woods.

Suddenly a militant who had been hiding behind a tree tripped him. He fell hard and face-first into the ground, his knife flying from his hand and skittering into the underbrush. Even as he tried to recover, he heard Gibbs struggling with another militant.

Turning over, he looked up just in time to see Saleem Ulman bringing the butt of a rifle down onto his head.

Jerking awake, he sat up and looked around in confusion. He was in his living room, lying on the floor under the windows. He had been laying against the wall much like how he had slept on the steamer.

"Tim?"

In the dim light, he saw Delilah leaning down and looking worriedly at him.

"Delilah?" he said as he sat up further. "How'd I get out here?" he asked. He distinctly remembered going to bed with Delilah.

"You don't remember?" she asked. He shook his head. "I don't know either. I woke up to go to the bathroom and you weren't in bed. I found you here." She looked at him critically. "It looked like you were having another nightmare."

He rubbed his eyes.

He'd been having dreams ever since he came home from Paraguay a month ago. Of the ones he remembered, most of the dreams had been of things that had happened to him or Gibbs in Paraguay. And even though most of tonight's dream mirrored how he and Gibbs had been captured, the ending decidedly _wasn't_ something that had happened. And it wasn't the first time this had happened.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked.

He looked up at Delilah. She was asking but he could tell she didn't expect him to want to talk.

Normally, he wouldn't tell her about his nightmares. Sometimes, it was because he didn't want Delilah to have to know what he had gone through. Sometimes, he couldn't bear to repeat the horrors of what he had to relive yet again. But mostly, it was because he couldn't recall the specifics, just the fear that went with his nocturnal trips down memory lane.

Getting up, he turned on a lamp and sat back down on the sofa.

He rubbed his face again before he looked at Delilah.

"I was dreaming about the day we were captured," he said. "The attack on the compound where the boys were held."

She eased to his side and took his hand in hers.

"The firefight?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah," he replied.

She had heard this story the day he had returned home during their impromptu welcome home party. Unsurprisingly, Torres had immediately asked what happened after the helicopter lifted off. It wasn't a long story and he had immediately asked what happened back home to gain some time to figure out what he'd say about the two months spent in the custody of the RAC.

"Where did I interrupt the dream?" she asked.

"Right when I was knocked out when we were captured," he said.

He frowned as he clearly recalled the man striking him with the butt of the weapon. There was no doubt in his mind that it had been Saleem in his nightmare. He had gotten a _very_ close look at Saleem's face when the man pulled a gun on him during his botched escape attempt.

"But it wasn't one of the militants that hit me," he said as he looked at Delilah. "It was Saleem."

"Saleem?" Delilah thought for a moment before she continued. "Saleem Ulman?" Delilah asked. He nodded. "The terrorist you went after when you thought Ziva was dead?" He nodded again. "How does a Yale educated terrorist from Somalia end up in your dream about Paraguayan militants capturing you?"

"Beats me," he muttered. Delilah jolted. Realizing his poor choice of words, he looked at her wryly. "Apparently literally."

Rolling her eyes, Delilah looked at him. "I'm no psychologist but that's got to have a hidden meaning, right?"

"If these dreams have any meaning, it's lost on me," he replied without thinking.

"Dreams?" Delilah asked astutely. "Like as in plural?" Frowning, he realized he let it slip that this wasn't the first dream he had where someone appeared who had no business being in Paraguay. Everyone who had showed up in his dreams was decidedly dead. Two of which he had killed himself. "Who else have you seen in your dreams that doesn't belong?"

"Oh," he said. "Well the first time it was Ari Haswari," he said with a frown. Seeing that particular dead face leaning over him had been extremely disconcerting. He had woken up in a cold sweat and didn't get back to sleep that night. "Another time it was a guy named Andre Jones."

"I don't know that name," Delilah replied shaking her head.

"He worked for La Grenouille," he replied. "He shot a tactical camera off my NCIS hat," he said as he motioned to the side of his head. Delilah's eyes widened in shock. "Pretty sure he missed only because I hit him first."

"Geez Tim," Delilah said. She stopped and looked to be at a loss for words.

"Yeah," he replied as he squeezed her hand.

"Just how many times have you had this dream?" she asked, changing the subject.

His brows knit together as he thought. He had a feeling that he had dreamt this same dream more than he recalled. So far, the intruders into his dreams included the dirty metro cop Keith Archer thanking him for finishing off his partner, Paloma Reynosa as she laughed about kidnapping him, Benham Parsa saying that he wanted to make up for missing him in the gala bombing and Sergei Mishnev expressing his regrets that he hadn't died in the helicopter crash. He also had a vague feeling that the red-haired assassin Juliet Tippon, who he knew as Amanda Barrow, had also made an appearance, but he didn't remember that dream.

"Including those two," he said. "Six that I can remember."

"That you remember?" she asked.

"Dee, I told you that I don't remember most of the dreams I have," he protested. She frowned. He was sure that she thought he was lying. "Some like these are just confusing and don't make much sense."

"Ok," she replied still skeptical. "Who else has showed up?"

He looked at her. She was settling in to try to psychoanalyze his nightmare, but he wasn't sure there was anything to make of it.

"I'm not sure it matters," he replied trying to deflect her. "They're all dead."

"And none of them belong in Paraguay," she countered as she sat up in her chair to gain a measure of height.

"True," he agreed as he leaned on his knees. He didn't want this to turn into an argument. "None of the people were from the ship." He ran his hand through his hair. "But I always woke up right after I was knocked out. Maybe it's my mind's way of waking myself up? You know, seeing someone I know who couldn't be there tells me that it's a dream and not something that's happening?"

Delilah looked at him skeptically. "Maybe," she said.

Even as he said it, he wasn't sure that was the right answer either. Every one of those people he had seen had come _very_ close to killing him and he definitely wasn't going to tell Delilah that. It still made him uncomfortable to think how many close calls he had over the years.

"But that still doesn't explain the sleepwalking or the sleeping on the hard floor," Delilah said.

He snorted. "I can't explain those either," he replied. He rubbed his hip. Now that he thought about it, his hip was sore from sleeping on the unforgiving floor.

"You haven't woken up on the floor before, have you?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "This is a first."

Well that wasn't entirely true.

He _had_ taken naps on the floor when Delilah wasn't around. The first time was while he had been cleaning out their storage room a few weeks ago. He tired easily back then and decided to just lay down for a few minutes to rest between boxes. He woke up two hours later. The last time was a few days ago after returning from a run. He needed to recover for a few minutes before showering and hadn't wanted to lay his sweaty body on the couch or their bed. A few minutes had turned into twenty. But this was the first time sleepwalking that he knew of.

Before Paraguay, he never would have been able to sleep on the floor even for just a nap. He had always preferred soft mattresses. But after being forced to sleep on hard, metal floor for two months, a nap on the hard, wooden floor was pretty comfortable. Or at least more comfortable than he had anticipated. His living room floor was certainly cleaner than the rusty steamer.

"What time is it anyway?" he asked.

"Only one o'clock. I knew I shouldn't have had that milkshake so late," Delilah said as she rubbed her side. "Of course, it would help if the baby wasn't sitting on my bladder." He looked at her sympathetically. "I'd rather it be now than four in the morning. At least this way, I'll get more sleep."

"Is that a hint?" he asked wryly.

"Only if you're ok, Tim," she said looking at him in concern. "I'm worried about you."

"Hey," he said as he took her hand. "I'm fine."

"You were sleeping on the floor of our living room," she said dryly. "And dreaming about a dead terrorist from Somalia."

"How is that any stranger than your dream that you had a jet pack attached to your chair and you were flying circles around the Washington Monument?" he countered.

"I fell asleep watching _The Rocketeer!_ " Delilah retorted. "And I didn't go through something traumatic like you did." She squeezed his hand. "Tim, I know you're not sleeping well. I can feel you tossing and turning and muttering in your sleep." He frowned, annoyed that he had woke her. "I had nightmares after the bombing too."

"I remember," he replied softly. "And I remember that you had to deal with them on your own." Delilah frowned. "I could only do so much for you." She nodded. "Just keep doing what you're doing Dee."

"I feel like I should be doing more," she replied sadly.

"I know the feeling," he replied to her surprise. "Look, you're doing more than you think," he said. "When things have been crazy or hard to deal with, you've been my rock, Dee. Steady and strong. Having you with me, it keeps me focused on what's important. You, me, our baby," he said as he reached out and rested his hand on her stomach. Delilah rested her hand on his and smiled. "And things are getting better. One day at a time."

She nodded.

"Ok," she said. "But promise me Tim," Delilah said. "If things _aren't_ getting better that you'll talk to someone. Even if it isn't me. Talking through what happened helped my recovery."

He nodded, unable to verbalize his agreement. He didn't want to think about things not getting better…

Getting up, he followed Delilah to the bedroom where they settled down to sleep.

But as he closed his eyes, he knew sleep wasn't coming. He could feel his mind churning with fragmented thoughts from Paraguay. Their capture, the ship, El Doctor, their harrowing escape. And he worried that the moment he closed his eyes, the nightmares would return. Even the relatively mild nightmare reliving his capture was disturbing and he wasn't eager to return to that especially if someone like Ari Haswari was going to make a cameo.

Opening his eyes again, he watched as Delilah's breath evened out as she dropped off.

He envied how easily she could fall asleep. Even before Paraguay, he had never had that ability. Once he was awake, his brain would just spin and spin, especially if he had something on his mind like the Muldoon case from a year ago.

Even though Delilah had made a fantastic dinner, he couldn't stop thinking about the case especially after Delilah dropped the other shoe on him. Using that dinner to recreate the crime scene hadn't exactly been his finest moment, but it had solidified that something was off about the Petty Officer's testimony. That had led to neither of them getting any sleep that night as he and Delilah had ended up driving out to the crime scene to try to figure out why the pieces of their puzzle weren't fitting together.

And that was just over a case. It was worse since his return from Paraguay.

He had found that once he had a nightmare, he rarely fell into a deep sleep afterwards. If he remembered the dream, he couldn't fall back to sleep because his brain would just churn through the details even though that was the last thing he wanted to do. Sometimes he fell back to sleep and right back into the nightmare that was still fresh in his subconscious.

"Mind over matter," he said softly. _He_ was the one in control of his own head, wasn't he?

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly.

Suddenly he remembered that Abby often used meditation techniques when she was trying to solve a difficult problem. It was something about counting and breathing. Focusing on that might give his brain something to do instead of thinking about Saleem Ulman or Ari Haswari making an uninvited visit to his dreams.

In. Out. In. Out.

Soon his mind calmed and he dropped off to sleep.

When Delilah's alarm went off the next morning, he woke refreshed for the first time in weeks. But when he looked over at Delilah's side, he saw that she was already up. Considering how tired the baby made her, it was unusual for her to be awake before the alarm. But since she was already in the bathroom, he didn't think twice about it.

Getting up, he got dressed and was about to head out to the kitchen to make breakfast when Delilah's phone rang.

Before he could get it, Delilah came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and ready for work. She grabbed her phone and answered.

"Hey Abs," Delilah said without turning to look at him. "No, I woke up a little while ago. You really don't need to keep checking in on me. I'm fine." He smiled. Leave it to Abby to be so concerned even a month after his return. "Besides, Tony said he'll be here in a week. He found a house to rent near the Pentagon. Yes, it's all one floor. I still think it's super-weird that I'm moving in with Tim's best friend though."

"Wait, what?" he asked but Delilah didn't look at him.

"No, I definitely am not attracted to Tony," Delilah said. "Believe me, _that_ won't be happening. Ever." Delilah wiped a tear from her eye. "I couldn't do that to Tim even if he's… No, I still can't say it."

"Say what?" he asked but Delilah still wasn't looking at him.

"I mean, I really appreciate that he's coming back to the States from Paris," Delilah continued. "But this whole thing about him feeling obligated to take care of me and the baby… I think Tony feels guilty that he wasn't here to protect Tim."

Delilah smiled. "It is sweet," she said in response to Abby. "And I know I'm going to need help with the baby. But I wish I didn't have to. I wish Tim was here."

Confused, he stared at Delilah. "Dee. I'm right here."

"But I love that he was brave enough to save those boys," Delilah said fondly. "We both knew that staying in the field could be dangerous. We both knew something like this could happen." Delilah looked at a picture from their wedding day. They were seated at their dining table laughing about something. Ellie had snapped the photo unbeknownst to them and framed it. It was one of his favorite pictures of him and Delilah. "But we both agreed that he was really good at his job and he was making a difference. He shouldn't have to give that up just because I'm pregnant."

Delilah rested her hands on her belly.

"He was so excited for the baby, Abs," Delilah said. "Nervous and scared but super happy and I'm sorry he's never going to meet our child. But I think I'm sadder that our baby won't get to meet their father. I still can't believe how lucky I got with Tim." Delilah laughed. "Right, of course I appreciate that you spent ten years training him."

In spite of himself, he snorted. Of course, Abby would take some credit…

"Look I gotta go, Abs," Delilah said. "We'll talk tomorrow when you come help me pack up our things." Delilah hung up and sighed.

"Dee," he said as he sat down on the bed so she could see him. "I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm right here."

"All right kiddo," Delilah said to her stomach. "Time to get to work." She shifted uncomfortably. "Or you could sit on my bladder again. Ok. I'll make a deal with you. I'll tell you about your Daddy again if you just move off my bladder." Delilah poked her side and then sighed in relief. She shook her head in disbelief. "The kid's not even born yet and I'm negotiating with him."

"Him?" he asked hopefully.

"Or her," Delilah said. "I won't know until you pop out. We really wanted two kids…" Delilah sighed. "Damn you Tim. Why'd you have to go get yourself killed?"

Blinking in shock, he looked at his hand. Was he dead?

"But no one could have predicted that the Reynosa cartel had connections to the RAC," she said.

"Reynosa Cartel?" he asked. "Wait, this is a dream."

Suddenly Delilah's alarm went off and he jolted awake. He half-propped himself up and looked around his darkened bedroom. Delilah was looking at him in concern.

"Another dream?" she asked.

"Thankfully yes," he said with a laugh which confused her. "I just dreamed that Tony was moving back to DC and you were moving in with him so he could help you with the baby."

"Oh," Delilah said surprised. "Well that was sweet of him. A little weird. But sweet."

"Yeah," he replied. He laughed. "You said that in the dream too."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you know me so well that your subconscious thinks the way I do," she said. "But why was Tony moving back to DC?" she asked. He hedged. "You dreamed you didn't make it out of Paraguay?"

"I guess," he replied. "I was sitting right here, and you didn't see me." He tried to keep a straight face as he looked at Delilah. He couldn't usually hide things from her and he definitely didn't want to tell her that the Reynosa Cartel had been involved in this dream. "You were negotiating with the baby to stop sitting on your bladder when I woke up."

Delilah snorted. "Did it work?" she asked. He nodded. "How'd did I manage it in your dream because I can't seem to get that to happen in real life," she said as she poked her side.

"You promised to tell the baby about me," he said.

"Kiddo, if talking about your father is all I need to do to get some relief, I can talk all day long," she said as she looked at her belly. "Because I have lots of great things to say about him. You won the lottery with your father."

"I don't know about that," he said hastily. "But I'm going to do my best."

"You always do," Delilah said as she leaned in and kissed him. "Good morning."

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"I guess I should get ready for work," she said. "What's on your schedule for today?"

"No doctor's appointments," he said as they sat up. "I was thinking about going to the range. Since it sounds like I might be cleared to get back to work in the next few weeks, so I thought it would be a good idea to make sure I can pass my firearms quals."

"Are you really that close?" Delilah asked. "Not that I'm complaining. I think getting back to work would be good for you. But I thought you were still having issues with your shoulders."

"I still need a little more PT," he replied. "But I've put on most of the weight I lost. And I'm almost eating normally again. I can't imagine it'll be much longer."

Delilah's phone chirped. She picked it up and checked the message, her face brightening as she read.

"Oh, the baby's crib is scheduled to be delivered today," she said with a smile. "Between one and four." She looked at him. "Looks like you have a project."

"Hope it's easier than getting the folding changing table mounted to the wall," he said without thinking.

"I still say you should have called Gibbs," Delilah said as she shifted out of the bed and into her chair. "He would have been glad to help."

"I know," he replied even as he wondered how Gibbs was doing.

They hadn't talked since the night they got home. Everyone kept telling him that Gibbs was doing great and cracking jokes, but he wasn't sure if they were saying that to make him feel better or if Gibbs really was ok. He had almost called his boss a few times, but something stopped him before he pushed the call button.

"I really didn't think it would be that hard to find a stud in this apartment," he added.

"Really?" Delilah asked. "I'm looking at one right now."

Taken off guard, he could only watch as Delilah laughed before heading into the bathroom. Shaking his head, he got up and got dressed.

While Delilah got ready, he made them breakfast. After she went to work, he dressed and grabbed his weapon. After nearly three months, the heavy weight on his hip felt strange. But at least he wasn't in any danger of the weight taking his pants down. He had regained almost all the weight he had lost, and his belt was only a notch or two tighter than it should be.

He drove to the range and greeted some people he knew but he didn't stop to talk. He hadn't seen many people outside his close friends from NCIS and some of his and Delilah's friends. Anytime he ran into an acquaintance, it was awkward.

He was usually pretty good at small talk, but after being held prisoner in a foreign country for two months, no one seemed to know what to say to him. A lot of times, they'd end up talking about the weather or how Delilah and the baby were doing. But then they'd end up in an uncomfortable silence which led to a clumsy farewell.

He made his way to the range and quickly set up his first target. After pulling on his ear protection, he drew his weapon and took careful aim. As he raised his arms to fire, his shoulders protested. With the first shot, the recall sent waves of pain down his arms and into his back. He pushed through the pain and emptied his magazine.

But as he recalled his target, he frowned. He was all over the place. He had more than a few misses and no discernable groupings. He hadn't been this off target when they had fled the ship and he had been in far worse condition then.

"Need some help?" Turning around, he saw someone from the range looking at his target. His name plate indicated that his name was Marcus and that he was an instructor. "I'm waiting for my nine o'clock quals session with local law enforcement. Saw that you were on the range, figured I'd see if you needed any help."

"No," he replied not exactly pleased with the intrusion. "Thanks. I'm just rusty. Been a while since I last shot at a target."

"How long?" Marcus asked as he eyed his target.

"Technically?" he said as he recalled shooting several members of the RAC as they escaped only a month ago. The last time he had shot a paper target had been before Paraguay. "Three months."

"Technically?" the instructor asked.

"It's a long story," he said as he turned and attached a new paper target.

"Mind if I stay to watch?" Marcus asked.

He didn't particularly want any more unsolicited advice or someone watching his every move, but he also didn't have a good reason to send the guy away either.

"Suit yourself," he said. He pushed the button to send the target back to the wall. He focused on it while he changed clips and then without thinking, he fired on instinct.

Pushing the button, he brought the target forward and looked at the results. It was only slightly better than the first, but his groupings weren't as tight as he would have preferred. He could feel the pain and tension in his shoulders as he raised his weapon. He'd have to go home, put heat on his shoulders, do his PT exercises then ice down.

"Looks better," Marcus said. "You're carrying too much tension in your shoulders. May I?"

He shrugged. He really didn't want the help, but he didn't really feel like explaining his issue either. Setting his stance, he raised his weapon.

"You need to relax your shoulders," Marcus said as he pushed down. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain that caused him to suck in his breath. "Oh, I'm sorry. An injury?"

"Yeah," he replied as he set his weapon onto the table. He rolled and stretched his shoulders until the pain eased. "Dislocated shoulders."

"Shoulders?" Marcus asked. "As in plural?" He nodded. "Ow. How'd you do that?"

"Not by choice," he replied as he recalled El Doctor's room. He really didn't feel like explaining his injury and fortunately Marcus knew better than to press for more information.

Feeling better after stretching a bit, he replaced the target and sent it back. "I think I got this now."

Marcus stepped back.

Without thinking, he ejected the clip and reloaded with the last one in his holster. He quickly took aim and allowed muscle memory to take control. But now that he knew how his shoulders felt, he knew how to compensate. He took fifteen shots in rapid succession. Seven to the head, eight to the torso. All dead center of his target.

Setting his weapon down, he recalled the target. Nice tight groupings with only a few outliers. He smiled slightly, pleased with the adjustments he had made.

"Ok, reminded me to not get into a firefight with you," Marcus said. "Military?"

"No," he said snorting. "Feels like it sometimes though."

"Law enforcement then," Marcus said. He didn't answer but just then the door to the range opened. A group of men wearing everything from jeans and t-shirts to suits walked in. "Looks like my class is here. Nice talking with you."

"Yeah," he said as he started to gather his empty magazines.

"Agent McGee?"

Looking up, he saw Detective Dockery.

"Detective Dockery," he said as the man walked up to him. They shook hands. "Surprised to see a Falls Church detective here."

"Yeah," Paul replied. "I was out of town on vacation when my quals were up. Booked the first make-up session I could find. I heard what happened." Paul looked him over. "You look good."

"Thanks," he said. "One day at a time."

"Clearly the shooting skills are up to par," Paul said as he eyed the target that was still hanging from the clip. "But then again, with Gibbs as your boss, I wouldn't expect anything less."

He shrugged and winced as his shoulders protested. "Started out rusty though. This was after a few warmups. Still recovering after everything," he replied as he rubbed his shoulder. "Hey, I don't want to keep you and I need to get home," he said as he glanced at his watch. It was barely ten o'clock, so he wasn't really in a hurry, but he didn't really feel the need to hang around much longer. "I've got to get home to take a delivery of a crib."

Paul looked at him surprised, noting his wedding band. He nodded.

"Hey congratulations! And yeah, gotta get this done so I can get back out there pounding the pavement," Paul said. "Tell Gibbs I said hi."

"Will do," he replied as he grabbed his things. He nodded to Marcus and just as he was leaving, he heard Paul start to explain what happened to him.

Grateful to get out of there, he stopped briefly to clean and reload his weapon before he hurried home.

He frowned as he replaced his weapon in the gun safe. He knew he should be pleased to see that he wouldn't have any problems with his firearms quals when he went back to work but it worried him that his shoulders were still not right. Was this something he was going to have to live with for the rest of his life? He had compensated for it but if this was the new normal, he'd effectively have to relearn how to shoot.

It wasn't like he was expected to fire his weapon often in the line of duty but when it became necessary, it was imperative that he was the better shot than the person he was shooting at. And since they often pursued suspects who were in the military or had been trained by the military, they were usually expert marksmen. After having a camera shot from his hat, he knew that better than anyone.

Reaching up, he rubbed the side of his head.

Parts of that incident, he recalled with disturbing clarity while others were a blur. He remembered Andre reaching for the weapon as if he were in slow motion. He saw Andre raise his weapon and instinct told him to pull the trigger.

He didn't see the muzzle flash from Andre's weapon, but he heard the unmistakable hiss as the bullet sliced through the air. When the bullet struck the camera on his hat, it felt and sounded like a hand grenade had exploded by his ear. He had been too stunned to do anything but hold his ground, staring at Andre as he was knocked from his feet after taking a single shot to his chest.

He vaguely recalled hearing the director shouting in his ear as he regained his bearings. When he finally looked around, he saw the camera on the ground at his feet surrounded by shattered bits of plastic. It didn't hit him for a few hours that he had literally been inches from death. Once the shock wore off, he developed a new appreciation for the little things.

He glanced at the ring on his hand.

He knew he should be grateful to have survived Paraguay. He knew he should be enjoying his second chance, but it wasn't just his second chance. His second chance had been escaping Ari Haswari's sniper rounds. His third had been Gibbs saving him from being shot by the dirty cop, Keith Archer and his fourth had been Andre Jones missing his head by a fraction of an inch. And those were just in his first three years as a field agent!

How many more had he had since then? He felt like Wyle E. Coyote with an anvil over his head suspended from a fraying rope. Each close call was another thread snapping. It was only a matter of time until the whole rope gave way.

When was it going to fall? He didn't know. He just had this dreadful feeling that it _was_ going to fall sooner or later, and how could he be expected to live like that?

Suddenly the doorbell rang.

He glanced at his watch. It was barely eleven thirty. They were early with the delivery.

He checked the peep hole and when he saw a delivery man in a brown uniform, he opened the door.

"Delilah Fielding?" the man asked.

"That's me," he said. The man looked at him. "Well, not _actually_ me. Delilah is my wife," he said holding up his hand to show off his ring.

"Sign here," the driver said as he held out a digital reader. He signed and motioned for the driver to wheel the box into the middle of the living room.

"Thanks," he said as the driver nodded and left, already focused on tapping his handset for his next delivery.

Shutting the door, he looked at the box, grateful for a distraction. His subconscious could worry about that anvil. In the meantime, he had bigger things to worry about like putting together a crib.

He quickly opened the package and found the instructions. Sitting down on the floor, he quickly skimmed the parts list but stopped about halfway through.

"What the hell's a flugendorf?" he asked as he looked down into the packaging.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** For all those still following along, I have two more chapters planned for this story but it may be a month or more before I can finish and post them. I have about half of the last chapter written as that was the scene I had in mind when I started to add to this story. Unfortunately, I haven't started the next chapter yet and I don't foresee a lot of spare time in the coming weeks to be able to work on it. Thanks again for reading!


	8. Ready or Not

**Chapter 8 – Ready or Not**

He looked up from his magazine when his phone rang.

Seeing Leon's name on the screen, he answered.

"Yeah, Leon," he said. "How ya been?"

"Hey Gibbs," Vance replied. "Funny, I was going to ask you that."

Chuckling, he thought back to the last time he had talked to Leon on the tarmac at Andrews. He and McGee had been upright only through sheer will. He looked and felt like he had gone nine rounds with Mohammed Ali and even though Tim didn't look as injured, he knew Tim felt the same. Their conversation had been brief, and surprisingly, the last time Leon had contacted him.

Of all his NCIS colleagues, it surprised him the most that he hadn't heard from Leon. If he hadn't been focused on his recovery, he might have felt offended.

"A hell of a lot better since we last talked," he replied meaningfully.

"Sorry about that," Leon said apologetically. "But I wanted to give you and McGee some space after getting back from Paraguay."

"Two months?" he asked.

Leon was silent for a moment. "Yeah, that's my bad."

Over the course of the last eight weeks, he hadn't had a lot of visitors. Not that he had a lot of friends anyway. And the list of those who would visit him was shorter. Tobias, Ducky and Abby had been his most frequent guests. After seeing him in the diner, Bishop had stopped by a few times with meals that didn't include quinoa and goji berries.

Leon had been conspicuous in his absence both in person and in phone calls.

So why now?

"You were notified that our medical leave is almost up," he said astutely.

Since last week, he had been checking off the steps that would allow him to get back to work. He finished his last PT session and had gone to the range to complete his firearms quals. Once he passed those, he scheduled his final medical exam that would allow him to return to duty. He just had to find out about his psych eval and he'd be good to go.

And from what Abby told him, Tim was doing the same. He had completed his PT, passed his firearms quals and had scheduled his last medical exam for Monday as well.

"I heard that," Leon said but he cut himself off. "I wanted to see if there was a good time for me to stop by. Wanted to see you before you came back."

Chuckling, he said, "Leon, I'm still on leave. I've got nothing but time on my hands."

"Good point," Leon replied. "If you don't mind, I could stop by tonight. I just dropped Jared off at a friend's and I need to grab some dinner…"

"Or you could come here," he said before he thought better of it.

He hadn't exactly been a homebody for the last two months, but he had spent more time at home than he usually did. After spending so much time together with McGee in their shared cell, the solitude had been welcome at first. But now, he found himself eager to see people, especially people he considered to be friends.

Leon was silent for a moment.

"You aren't planning to feed me that stuff Abby has been cooking for you and McGee, are you?" Leon asked.

He smiled. The food Abby cooked wasn't his first choice, but it wasn't bad either.

"Dinner is in an hour," he replied knowing that would be the easiest way to get Leon to talk.

Getting up, he made his way to his fireplace and started a fire. As soon as he had a good base, he made his way into the kitchen. He wrapped two potatoes in foil and tucked them in among the coals before he returned to the kitchen. He had a couple steaks and a batch of asparagus that would go nicely with the meal.

Returning to the living room, he kicked his feet up and returned to reading his magazine. He occasionally got up to stir the fire and to rotate the potatoes.

Suddenly he heard someone at his door but when the visitor found the door locked, there was a knock.

Before he could get off the couch, the knocking became more insistent.

"I'm coming," he replied as he got up and pulled open the door.

"Of all days to lock your door," Leon complained as he hurried inside followed by gust of wind and some rain.

He shut the door but looked outside. It was dark, and a steady rain was falling.

"Didn't know it was raining or I'd have unlocked it for you," he said.

"It's been raining all day," Leon said as he wiped some water from his face. Leon was standing funny and had something bulky hidden under his coat. "But I suppose you wouldn't know that if you've been in a basement all day. Did you finish that boat yet?"

"Not yet," he said dryly. Suddenly happy to see his friend, he said jovially. "Come on in. Dry off," he added.

He led the way into the living room and turned around as Leon sighed in relief.

"Those potatoes I see in there?" Leon asked as he stopped at the entrance to the living room. He nodded. "Good. I really thought you were going to make me eat that quinoa and tofu stuff Abby has been making you," Leon said, joining him. He chuckled. "This'll go better with steak and potatoes anyway." He watched as Leon produced a six pack of beer from under his coat.

Smiling, he took the beer.

"Won't argue with you on that," he said as he took the beer to the kitchen. He grabbed a couple and opened them. He handed one to Leon as he stood in front of the fire to dry off. "Whatever Abby made was actually pretty good."

"But you prefer the steak and potatoes," Leon said as their eyes met. Silently he held up his beer and toasted Leon. "That's what I thought," Leon said as he sipped his drink. "If Kayla asks, we had quinoa, kale and tofu for dinner."

Chuckling, he asked, "She's still watching your diet?"

"Like a hawk," Leon replied as he turned around. "You don't want to know what she thinks is an appropriate breakfast." He looked at Leon questioningly. "Breakfast should not come out of a blender."

He chuckled.

"Amen," he said softly.

"It might drive me crazy," Leon said. "But sometimes she reminds me so much of Jackie." Leon chuckled. "They say we're fated to become like our parents. If that's the case, I'm glad to see Kayla take after her mother."

"What about Jared?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Hopefully he'll get the best parts of me _and_ his mother," Leon said with a laugh.

Setting his beer on the coffee table, he returned to the kitchen and collected the steaks. By the time he returned, Leon had situated the cooking grate over the fire. The steaks hit the already warm grate with a satisfying sizzle.

After a while, he turned the steaks and added the asparagus to the grate.

He glanced at Leon.

He knew that Leon had things he wanted to discuss but he appreciated that Vance was holding off. There was a time and a place for everything. And right now, it was time for dinner.

"Plates are in the cabinet," he said. "Silverware is in the drawer below."

Nodding, Leon left the room to collect their plates. When he returned, he set two fresh beers onto the coffee table along with their plates.

Testing the steak, he judged that they were done. Grabbing the fresh beer, he quickly poured a little beer over each of them before flipping them and repeating the process.

"Seems like a waste of good beer," Leon said.

He chuckled.

"You wait," he replied as he transferred the potatoes to their plates followed by the asparagus and steaks.

Standing up with a little more effort than he would have preferred, he returned to the kitchen and collected the salt and pepper and butter for the potatoes. When he sat down on the couch, he motioned for Leon to dig in.

They were silent at first as they both ate but as soon as Leon took a bite from his steak, he stopped and looked at Gibbs.

"I can admit when I'm wrong," Leon said as he swallowed.

Chuckling again, they toasted each other and went to work on their dinner.

When they finished, Leon sat back.

"Clearly you haven't lost your touch when it comes to campfire steaks," Leon said with satisfaction.

"I've had a few since I got the go ahead," he replied with a slight smile. "What brings you over here, Leon?"

"Just checking in on you," Leon said. He looked at Leon skeptically. "Fine. I had a couple of things to discuss with you prior to your return to work. I understand that you and McGee are expected to be cleared medically on Monday." He nodded. "There's still some administrative issues that need to be taken care of."

Leon sipped his beer but found it empty.

"Am I gonna want another one for this conversation?" he asked as he finished his own beer.

"You might not," Leon said. "But I do."

Chuckling, he stood up. He took their plates to the kitchen and returned with the last bottles of beer. He opened it and handed it to Leon.

"What you did in Paraguay really kicked the hornet's nest," Leon said. "You might have heard about the Congressional investigation?"

"Yeah," he replied as he retook his seat. "Ducky and Fornell filled me in."

Even if everything had gone to plan, he knew there would have been fallout from his decision to rescue the boys. The RAC was classified as a terrorist organization but Paraguay was a sovereign nation. They couldn't take unilateral action without some political fallout.

But those boys didn't care about international politics and the longer his team stayed in a RAC controlled village, the more dangerous it would be for them. They had limited time to take action and couldn't wait for the proper procedures and permissions to be obtained.

So he applied rule eighteen to the situation. Better to seek forgiveness than ask permission.

"I would do the same thing again," he said firmly.

"I know," Leon retorted. "And I knew there was nothing I could have said to change your mind, Gibbs. Why do you think I pulled those strings to get that helo?" He shrugged. "I'd rather take hell for making sure my agents and an injured serviceman made it out of hostile territory than leave you to fend for yourselves."

"I appreciate that," he replied. "Too bad it didn't work."

"Yeah," Leon said. "But if it had, you might not have had a job anymore." He looked at Leon questioningly. "The SECNAV caught wind of my request for a Navy helo right around the time you started the attack on the RAC camp."

"You didn't go through her in the first place?" he asked.

"And have her tell me no?" Leon asked incredulously. "She knows you Gibbs. If I had went through Porter, she'd have asked questions and that would have led to her denying the helo and push to go through proper channels." He looked at Leon expectantly. "I went through State and the Chief of Naval Operations. It was in their best interest to evac a wounded SEAL from hostile territory. They agreed and put the order for the helo through."

"You never mentioned the attack on the camp," Gibbs said.

"Not until the bird was in the air," Leon admitted. "Told them we got updated intel overnight. It indicated that it wouldn't be a smooth extraction. Didn't tell them that was because you were going to poke the bear."

He chuckled lightly as Leon took a sip of his beer.

"Secretary Porter found out about the operation just about the time you attacked the compound," Leon continued.

"She must have been pissed," he said mildly.

"You don't know the half of it," Leon replied. "She must have called me a dozen times before she got to NCIS. When she got to MTAC, she saw Bishop and knew you were involved with an 'incident' in Paraguay that State had told her about. They didn't know much. Only that American agents had been involved with a firefight with locals in Paraguay."

"Shouldn't have taken much to put two and two together," he said. "She knew we were headed to Paraguay."

Vance nodded. "Demanded your badge just as the helo crew confirmed that you and McGee had been left behind and were MIA."

"Which is why you weren't answering her calls," he inferred. "How'd State hear about the attack so quickly?"

"I was the one who told State about the incident," Leon replied. "Had to if I wanted to mobilize any of our assets in Paraguay to find you and McGee."

That made sense. CIA had been monitoring the RAC. If anyone had assets nearby that could have helped them in those first few hours, it'd have been State.

"Soon as Porter heard you were missing, she started calling in every favor she had to try to get search crews to Paraguay to find you," Leon continued. "Considering how unhelpful some of the Paraguayan authorities were, we needed every string to be pulled. It was the SECNAV who ensured that the Paraguayan military was on standby to extract you if we ever found where the RAC was holding you," Leon finished.

"I'll make sure to thank her the next time I see her," he said genuinely.

The ship had been in a remote area. Between their physical condition, the hostile terrain and being hunted by the RAC, chances are they wouldn't have made it out of Paraguay alive. It wouldn't have stopped them from trying, but their chances of success would have been slim without the military helicopter that took them to safety.

"You need to hold onto the friends you got," Leon said. "Because this mission pissed off a lot of people in State and I'm not sure that taking down the RAC and putting a stop to his uranium smuggling operation helped much." He looked at Leon incredulously. "You stopped it at the source, but they still don't know who was buying it and where it was going."

"The end user was as important to them as the source," he murmured.

"Yeah," Leon said. "We were able to find one of his middlemen here in the United States." He looked at Leon questioningly. "It's how we got the satellite phone. One of the RAC's smugglers was calling NCIS to tip us off to your location in Paraguay. Or at least we assume he was. He was gunned down before he could give us anything."

"You know he was smuggling uranium?" Gibbs asked.

"The autopsy confirmed it, but his hair was falling out at the scene," Leon said. "He had a history of drug smuggling which is likely how he was connected to the RAC." Leon looked at him meaningfully. He winced. It wasn't a pleasant thought to think of drugs being smuggled that way and it was even less pleasant to think of smuggling nuclear material in that manner. "Needless to say, he didn't use a lead balloon. If he hadn't died of lead poisoning, he'd have died of radiation poisoning."

Taken off guard, he snorted. Standing up, he poked the fire and added another piece of wood.

"Sounds like getting shot did him a favor," he said as he looked back at Leon.

"The timing was terrible though," Leon replied. "Because he never managed to phone in his tip, it took us longer to make the connection to the RAC. We could have found you sooner…"

"Probably not," he replied. "From what Fornell tells me, the RAC ship we were held on wasn't a known asset." Leon nodded in concession. "And if you had called the satellite phone when you found the dead drug smuggler, I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't have ended well for us."

"You think Duarte would have disposed of you?" Vance asked.

"I know he would have," he said firmly as he walked back to the couch. "And somewhere where we'd have been found."

"To protect his operation," Vance said. "Makes sense."

"Duarte?" he asked as he sat down.

"Eduardo Salvador Duarte," Leon replied. "The leader of the RAC. Or I should say, the _former_ leader of the RAC," Leon amended. "For as many people you pissed off, you impressed quite a few too. After two months in captivity, you escaped and killed the leader of the RAC, putting an end to the RAC's reign of terror."

"The hard way," he said softly. Leon looked at him sympathetically.

"Even if it took a little longer, the timing was impeccable," Leon said. "The request for your extraction interrupted the Congressional hearing where I was taking a beating."

"You're welcome," he said dryly.

Leon shook his head.

"Bunch of hypocrites," Leon muttered. "One minute they're berating me about the rule of law and the next they're telling me that we did good work and that they were proud of us. The whole thing was meant to save face with the Paraguayans."

"We needed them for the extraction," he retorted.

"True," Leon conceded. "Fortunately, the Congressional investigation into the matter has been closed. The Paraguayan government is happy the RAC has been disbanded and we're happy we got you back. It's as close as we could get to a win-win situation."

He almost argued against that but bit his tongue and sipped his beer instead. He and McGee hadn't won anything.

"I got the final report this morning," Leon continued, oblivious to his thoughts. "They had some recommendations and Secretary Porter signed off on them."

He looked at Leon. The SECNAV had wanted his badge two months ago. For a brief moment, he feared that she _still_ wanted it… until he saw Leon's poorly masked smile.

"What?" he asked.

"You've been suspended," Leon replied. "With pay."

"For how long?" he asked. He suspected that there was some joke to be had and he was annoyed that he had to wait for the punchline.

"Two months," Leon replied. "Retroactive to May twenty-first."

"The day we were captured," he said dryly. He got the joke now. They had been 'suspended' for the duration of time they had been held by the RAC.

"SECNAV saw no need to punish you twice," Leon replied. He frowned but quickly hid it from Leon. "Especially since unofficially, most people are happy with the results."

"Glad we could help out," he added.

"Not sure it was worth the price though." Leon looked at him, searching for signs of trauma, both seen and unseen. He had a feeling that what was coming next was the real reason Leon wanted to visit him. "I've seen the reports from Agent McHenry and your doctors."

"Figured that much," he said softly.

"McHenry's reports were a given," Vance said. "How could you have guessed I'd seen the doctor's reports?"

"We had to agree to the records release," he retorted. "Otherwise it was a HIPAA violation."

"Right," Leon said realizing his mistake. "I'm surprised you agreed."

He snorted. "It was either that or we'd have to get interviewed again and have to tell an agent about our injuries," he replied. "Figured letting the Doc share was the easier of the two."

"I thought your reports to Agent McHenry were thin," Vance said. "Not that I blame you," Leon added hastily. "I wouldn't want to share the details of what happened in Paraguay with anyone either."

He shook his head.

"Wasn't that," he replied. Leon looked at him skeptically. "It wasn't _all_ that," he amended. "You can't summarize two months' worth of anything in an hour-long conversation. Not with any kind of detail."

He cut himself off before he added that he had no desire to document any of the treatment they had endured. He wanted to forget Paraguay, not immortalize it in a report somewhere.

Of course, what he wanted and what needed to be done were two different things. Government bureaucracy dictated that what happened in Paraguay needed to be documented, analyzed, dissected and summarized.

"I've seen the reports," Leon said carefully. "I can read between the lines, Gibbs. There's a lot that you and McGee didn't want to share." He glanced at Leon wondering how much Leon wanted them to document. "I'm not pushing for you to share those things in the official report."

"Then what do you want, Leon?" he asked warily.

"Nothing," Leon said. His confusion must have shown because Leon continued. "I'm checking in on my agent." Leon shook his head. "I'm checking in on my friend," Leon amended. "You've been through a lot, Gibbs. But this was different. I don't think that this is something you can just brush off."

He shrugged. He knew Leon was right, but he also knew that this wasn't something he wanted to share with his friends. It wasn't because he didn't trust them. Fornell, Ducky, Leon. They'd all be empathetic to what he went through and he knew that they'd keep his confidence.

But he didn't want empathy. He wanted someone to help him sort through the tangle of emotions that this experience had caused. He had tried to work things out for himself, but over the last few weeks, he had concluded that it wasn't getting any better. If he didn't know how to handle his emotions, he knew that his friends wouldn't know what to do with them either. And if he couldn't sort out the issues in his head, he'd never get back to the one place that gave him purpose.

He was going to need help from someone who had experience with this kind of thing.

He knew he need to talk to Doctor Confalone. Grace had extensive experience in treating PTS. And yet, she was one of his few friends he hadn't spoken with since his return. He had even spoken with Doctor Taft, though he had left out any detail about what happened while he had been captured. Taft had mostly inquired about his physical health.

He had a feeling that Grace was waiting to hear from him. So why hadn't he reached out?

As much as he hated to admit it, part of it was out of fear. He had spent every day since his return focusing on getting better physically so that he could return to work. Between the job and his woodworking, he had always been able to sort out the mental part. But Paraguay had been worse than anything he had gone through in his life and if she didn't let him return to his job…

"I take it, this isn't just a friendly visit," he said as he realized that Leon had an ulterior motive and it wasn't just to tell him he had been retroactively suspended for his actions in Paraguay.

"It is," Leon protested but he shook his head. "Ok fine. I know you're about to cleared medically and you passed your firearms quals. Once you've had your psych eval, you should be able to return to work."

"Should?" he asked questioningly.

"I wanted to get my own read on you two," Leon said bluntly. Leon stood up and started to pace slightly. "I know you Gibbs. Both you and McGee are smart enough to say what you need to say to pass a psych eval. I wanted to make sure that you weren't pulling the wool over the Doc's eyes."

He thought back to when Delilah had been hurt in the Gala bombing. Tim had spoken with Doctor Cranston and gotten himself cleared to be back at work all while Delilah was in the hospital, paralyzed. He had concealed that information in his psych eval and had managed to convince Doctor Cranston that he was fit for duty even though he really wasn't.

Leon was right. Tim could pass an eval even if he wasn't really ready and he was pretty sure he could too if he wanted.

But he didn't want to.

"Not sure that would do anyone any good," he replied evenly. Leon stopped pacing and looked at him in surprise. "You know what we went through," he added.

"I do," Leon said. "And I know how PTS can affect a person's ability to function. I've seen the spirals it can send people on. It nearly derailed a life and a career until I stepped in." He looked at Leon and wondered who the Director was talking about. He couldn't think of anyone from NCIS that it would apply to. "But I also know you Gibbs. And I know you don't exactly like the idea of psychiatrists. They're one step above lawyers."

Taken off guard, he chuckled.

"Maybe a couple steps," he said. "Politicians are just above lawyers."

Leon laughed. "Noted," Leon replied. Vance sobered and retook his seat. "Look, I know you want to get back to work. Everyone is eager to have you back. But not if it's going to do more harm than good. SECNAV has authorized your medical leave to be as long as you need it to be."

"And you think that sitting around my house, dwelling on what we endured is going to help?" he asked.

"Maybe not," Leon replied. "But I also don't think a mentally and emotionally compromised agent will do any good either." He shrugged lightly. He couldn't argue that point. "I spoke to Doctor Confalone. She's agreed to see both you and McGee. Your reinstatement is conditional to her approval."

"Understood," he replied even as he wondered how long that process would take.

"I've told her that if either of you show any signs of obfuscation that she's to deny your reinstatement," Leon said firmly.

He nodded. He wasn't looking to pull the wool over Doctor Confalone's eyes, but he was also sure that there were some things he wasn't ready to share yet. He just hoped that she could be patient with him. He already knew that this wasn't going to be a one and done session. He just didn't know how long it would take him to get his head right. He knew PTS could be a lifelong battle…

"McGee is also aware of my conditions for his return," Leon said interrupting his thoughts.

He looked at Leon. "You talked with him already?"

"I spoke with Delilah and McGee earlier today," Leon said.

"How are they?" he asked when Leon didn't continue.

"Good," Vance replied. "They were working on the baby's room when I stopped by."

"They're going to use the storage room as a nursery," he concluded.

"It's bigger than I expected," Leon confirmed. "Delilah is looking good and the baby's active. Having her husband back has clearly helped." He snorted. That much would be obvious. "And McGee looks good too. Definitely better than the last time I saw him." Leon held his hands up in his defense. "Yes, I know. There wasn't anywhere to go but up." He nodded. "Surprised to see he kept some of the beard though." He looked at Vance questioningly. "Went with a mustache and goatee. It suits him." He chuckled as he tried to picture Tim with a beard. "You gonna let him keep it?"

"Facial hair isn't against NCIS policy," he countered.

"It's against your policy," Vance countered. He opened his mouth to object, but Leon continued before he could say anything. "Abby mentioned a time you made McGee shave at the office…"

"That was different," he countered with a laugh. "He was trying to be something he wasn't." Vance looked at him in confusion. "He thought that a beard would make him look more macho or something dumb like that. DiNozzo had been on his case…"

"I get the picture," Vance replied. "And I'm not surprised." Vance looked at him. "He asked about you. Said he hadn't seen you either."

He glanced at Leon. He heard the other man's unasked question.

Shrugging, he finished the last of his beer.

"Been focused on my recovery," he replied. "Figured McGee was too."

"That's a bunch of crap," Leon retorted. He looked at Leon wryly. "You're still feeling guilty that he followed you off the helo," Leon said.

"Who said I felt guilty?" he asked trying to deflect.

"You're saying you're not?" Leon countered. He tipped the bottle back to take another drink but stopped when he realized his beer was empty. Annoyed, he pushed the bottle into the middle of the coffee table. "I know what it's like to affect the people you're charged with protecting."

He glanced at Leon. He was picking at the label on his beer bottle.

"The bombing," he said. Leon nodded but didn't look at him. "That wasn't your fault Leon. But it _was_ my decision to save those kids."

"And you think that McGee would have left that village without attempting to save those kids?" Leon asked. "That he could knowingly leave them behind in the hands of the RAC?"

He looked ahead at the wall and shook his head. McGee couldn't have left those kids behind either. Tony might have teased Tim for years because he wasn't an overtly macho man. But McGee didn't lack courage or the wiliness to make the hard decisions. And he wasn't afraid to put himself in danger if it meant helping others.

"I'm an NCIS Special Agent," he murmured.

"What's that?" Leon asked.

He looked at Leon. "I gave Tim the opportunity to back out. Before the mission," he said. "Told him that he had new responsibilities, that he wasn't obligated to go with us." Leon looked at him incredulously. "He told me that he was an NCIS Special Agent. He never considered backing out."

"Just like you never considered leaving those kids behind," Leon said. "Because it was the right thing to do."

"Yeah," he replied.

"I may not always like your methods," Vance said. He snorted. _That_ was an understatement. "But I can count on you to do the right thing, Gibbs." He shrugged lightly. "That's part of why you can be so infuriating at times. I can't tell you that you're wrong." He chuckled. "And that's why we're eager to have you back. But only if you're ready."

"I'm ready," he said as convincingly as he could.

"Ok," Leon said after examining him for a long time. He did his best to keep a straight face and look as honest as possible. He wasn't exactly lying but he wasn't exactly telling the whole truth either. "Then as long as you're cleared medically and pass your psych eval, we'll see you and McGee on Monday."

"Looking forward to it," he replied genuinely.

Vance glanced at his watch. "It's late. I should get going. Thanks for dinner. It was the best meal I've had in a long time."

"Sure beats kale and tofu," he said as they stood. Leon chuckled. "Thanks for the beer."

"Any time," Leon said as they walked to the front door. "I mean that Gibbs. I know you aren't exactly the chatty type but if you ever want to talk…"

He nodded even though he had no intention of taking Leon up on his offer. Leon shrugged lightly knowing that his offer wasn't likely to be taken. Leon grabbed his coat and pulled it over his head. Bracing himself, Vance made a dash through the rain to his car.

Once Leon was in his car, he shut the door and watched as Leon drove away.

Returning to the living room, he noted that the fire in the fireplace was low. He scattered the coals then grabbed their bottles from the coffee table. After washing their dishes, he checked the fire once again. The fire was nearly out so he placed the grate in front of it to corral any stray sparks and made his way upstairs.

He changed and collapsed onto his bed. He suddenly felt exhausted, like he had been forced to run the gauntlet multiple times in a row. Considering that he hadn't had PT and it had been a quiet day at home, he wasn't sure why.

Letting out a deep breath, he allowed himself to sink into his mattress and fell into a deep sleep.

The rain woke him.

The heavy downpour on the metal was loud. The boat pitched slightly making his stomach churn. The can of cold black beans he had shared with McGee wasn't sitting well. And if it wasn't sitting well for him, it would be worse for Tim with his tendency to get seasick. And neither of them could afford to be seasick. It was one of the few substantial meals they've had recently. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably why it wasn't sitting well.

"It's a bad one," McGee said. Cracking an eye, he saw Tim was sitting near the door with his back to the wall. It was his turn to keep watch for the return of their captors. Though, at the moment, he was watching the steady stream of water flowing into their cell. "You're going to want to sit up before you get soaked."

He looked at the open grate. The grate in the ceiling was bigger than the hole in the floor. A small puddle was creeping towards where he lay. With how hard it was raining, the water was entering their cell faster than it could leave. If the rain kept up like this, they'd be forced to stand to avoid getting wet. Not that their captors cared. They thought it was funny.

He and McGee were less amused. The temperature dropped at night and the last thing they wanted was to be cold _and_ wet. Not to mention that the drain in the floor served as their bathroom too. If the water backed up into their cell, it wasn't just clean rainwater.

"I was going to wake you in a minute," Tim said. "But I was holding off as long as I could. You looked like you were getting some good sleep."

"I was," he said as he sat up and scooted next to McGee. "I was dreaming that I was sleeping in my bed at home."

"Soft mattress?" Tim asked. He nodded. "Fresh sheets?" He nodded again. "Even if it wasn't real, it must have been nice."

"Yeah," he replied. "Any idea what time it is?"

"Just before dawn, I think," Tim replied. He signed that the guards had only been changed twice since he started his watch. Two-hour shifts.

He'd gotten about four hours sleep then. Better than he could usually manage.

Their captors were fond of waking them in the middle of the night just for fun. Sometimes it was just to terrorize them but a few days ago, they had been doused with cold water. They claimed it was a 'bath' and while it had helped to remove some of the dirt and sweat, it had left them with soaked clothes in a cold cell exposed to the equally cold night air. That had been a particularly long night.

He glanced at the door and signed, asking Tim if it was the same guards.

Tim nodded. After a moment, he added that they didn't seem to be in a busy part of the ship. He hadn't noticed anyone walking by except to stand guard duty.

Might help them to escape, he signed. Less time between escaping and being discovered.

Tim shrugged. Have to get out of this room first, he signed.

He looked at Tim. He didn't seem optimistic that they'd escape.

"Hey," he said firmly. "We're going to get outta here."

"Huh?" Tim said. McGee looked at him in confusion.

"We're going to get out of here," he said.

"I know," Tim replied hastily.

"You don't look so certain," he replied.

"It's not that," Time replied as he shrugged and immediately winced. "I'm just tired. And sore."

"Shoulders?" he asked.

"They're still not right," Tim replied with a nod. "Not that you're not sore too," Tim said hastily.

"This ain't a competition," he replied softly. "If it were, we'd both be losers."

Tim snorted and nodded.

Suddenly they heard voices approaching their cell. They had just stood up when one of their guards barged into their cell. He carried a baseball bat and banged it against the wall.

"Rise and shine," he said maliciously. "Hands."

They held up their hands as two men entered their room and tied their hands in front of them. Then they were ushered out of their room and through the corridors to a compartment they'd only visited a few times but already had left a lasting impression.

He saw the look on McGee's face as they reached the door. The bat wielding man grinned as he knocked on the door which opened to reveal the lab-coated man their captors referred to as El Doctor.

They held a hushed conversation in Spanish. He wasn't fluent, but he knew the language well enough to get the gist of things. But the men spoke too softly for him to hear what they were saying.

"Buenas dias," El Doctor said as he motioned for them to enter the room. He had a smile on his face, which worried him.

They stepped inside. So far, this room had been another place for the crew to beat on them. Tim's dislocated shoulders had been the worst injury either of them had suffered so far. They had been bruised but it wasn't as bad as they had feared given the wide range of implements on display.

El Doctor motioned to Tim.

"On your knees," El Doctor said motioning to the side of the room.

Only after the man with the bat tapped him on the shoulder, McGee reluctantly followed El Doctor's instructions. He watched as the other two men strung a rope through Tim's bindings and to a hook on the ceiling, pulling Tim's arms up until his knees were just off the ground. Tim winced but didn't cry out.

Suddenly one of the men jerked the rope, forcefully pulling Tim off the ground by his wrists. Tim grunted as the two men laughed at his pain. Tim tried to get to his feet, but the second man socked Tim in the gut, winding him. As Tim tried to regain his breath, the man holding the rope let the rope go slack. Tim hit the deck hard and fell to his hands and knees, winded.

Without thinking, he lurched forward to help. But the man with the bat tripped him up.

He hit the deck hard, but he didn't stay down. He rolled, came to a knee and used his bound hands to hit the bat man's face. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.

Suddenly the world went black.

When he came to, he was on the deck again. As he rolled onto his back, gasping for air, he saw El Doctor standing over him and holding a hand-held taser. Tim was calling out to him, but his ears were ringing, and he couldn't understand what the younger man was saying.

Blinking slowly, he looked around and saw the man with the bat glaring at him. He wiped a trickle of blood from his nose and when he saw the blood, Bat-man kicked him savagely in the side in revenge. He grunted as the kick further winded him.

"Enough," El Doctor said. "Put him in the chair."

Hands grabbed him and pulled him into something akin to a dental chair. His hands were pulled over his head and he was restrained to the chair.

When he had recovered enough to look around, he saw that the men with the rope had pulled Tim up by his hands again just so his knees were just off the ground. Tim was trying to mask his discomfort by looking at him in concern.

Knowing that McGee was worried about him, he met the younger man's eye and nodded slightly to indicate he was ok… enough. Tim nodded in return, knowing that wasn't going to be the case for much longer.

"From the looks of things, the setting is too high," El Doctor said as he tinkered with the taser. "I think I will test it out on your friend here before I get back to you."

He met McGee's eye. He knew if he objected, El Doctor would make it worse for McGee. Unable to look away, he watched as the man reached out towards Tim with the taser.

Jolting awake, he sat upright and looked around his darkened bedroom.

Breathing out heavily, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed his eyes, wincing as he hit the split cheek that was still tender even after two months. Shaking his head to clear the pain, he looked around his room.

On one hand, he was grateful that it had just been a dream. On the other hand, the clarity of the dream made him sick to his stomach and the memory of that day was just as disturbing as experiencing it the first time.

Even though it had happened almost three months ago, he recalled those events as if it had happened yesterday. The pain, the fear, the helplessness.

He had a sudden need to hear McGee's voice, to verify that the younger man was really ok. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed his phone. He almost dialed McGee to check on him until he saw the time.

Two in the morning.

Shaking his head, he took several breaths as he tried to forget the nightmare. But his mind worked against him and he recalled more of what happened that day.

El Doctor had honed the setting of the taser on McGee until he found the level that caused enough pain without knocking Tim out. From there, it was a test of wills. Tim did his best to mask his pain, to not cry out, to not give El Doctor any satisfaction.

It was sick and twisted and worst of all, there hadn't been a damn thing he could do about it. And that was part of El Doctor's plan. He could torture both of them at the same time even if he never touched one of them.

He swallowed hard.

That day had been particularly hard on both of them. When Tim didn't cry out, El Doctor became enraged. And as Tim hung from his bonds, McGee had to witness him endure the same torment. And he had borne the brunt of El Doctor's wrath in silence, much to the man's displeasure.

When El Doctor tired of tormenting him, he returned to tormenting Tim and so on and so forth until they both lost track of time. El Doctor wanted them to cry out but neither of them had. They may have won the moral victory, but they paid dearly for their defiance.

By the time they were returned to their cell, it was night. The temperature had dropped but they weren't shaking from the cold.

He was barely aware of himself as he grabbed Tim by the shoulders and pulled him close to comfort the younger man. Tim was shaking, and his body was wracked by silent sobs. To be honest, his whole body felt like it was on fire and touching McGee hurt like hell. But he held on like his life depended on it until they both passed out.

Blinking, he realized that a single hot tear had escaped his eye. Wiping it away, he looked at his phone and thought about calling McGee again.

But what would he say?

Tim would wonder why he called in the middle of the night especially after not calling over the last two months. He didn't exactly want to tell Tim about his nightmare. He didn't want to force McGee to relive what was undoubtedly one of their worst days on the ship. But he'd have to, otherwise McGee would show up at his house to find out what was wrong.

Getting up, he got dressed and made his way down to his basement even though he was tired to the bone. He knew that he wouldn't get back to sleep after a nightmare like that.

For a moment, he considered pouring himself a drink, but he immediately dismissed the idea. He didn't want to use alcohol as a crutch. It would be too easy to drown the terrible memories in alcohol, but he knew it wouldn't solve anything. When he sobered, the memories would still be there.

As he picked up a sanding block, he wondered what would happen when he saw Tim on Monday. He'd be grateful to see the younger man in better health for sure. But he also had a feeling that memories of what had happened to them would be forced to the surface.

And Leon was right. He still felt guilty. And if he was honest; maybe even a little afraid. That was why he hadn't called McGee since getting home.

On the ship, his guilt had taken a back seat to surviving. He felt it, but he also used it as fuel to drive the fight to get McGee home to his wife and baby. But now that he was home, now he felt guilty that Tim had thrown himself into harm's way to protect him. He felt guilty that Delilah had spent months worrying about her husband instead of preparing for their child.

But most of all, he was afraid that Tim was having as much trouble dealing with the fallout from Paraguay as he was. Tim was a good man, with a good heart and a tendency to get stuck in his own head. If he couldn't sort himself out, he worried that Tim would have the same problem and he hated that he was responsible for that.

He sighed.

He'd have to face the other man eventually. He couldn't avoid McGee forever and no matter how much he tried, ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away. One way or another, he'd have to come to terms with the conflicting emotions brought on by their experiences in Paraguay. Some of that could be solved by seeing McGee again. The rest… well he hoped Doctor Confalone could help with the rest.

Lowering his head, he started to sand his boat.

Leon said that they wanted him back only if he was ready.

And right now, despite what he told the Director, he wasn't sure that he was.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Well this chapter took longer to write than I had hoped but Gibbs just wasn't being cooperative with me!

In _Twofer,_ I found Gibbs' reaction to Paraguay really interesting and completely unexpected. He was almost giddy to get back to work and he was clearly happy to see Tim again. From their reaction when they saw each other at the hospital, it seemed like they hadn't talked or seen each other since returning from Paraguay. The awkward look they shared in bullpen seemed to confirm it to me. They hadn't talked yet. They really needed to but neither knew how to start.

And while they both seemingly wanted to "get back to normal" by getting back to work, neither had really dealt with the emotional fallout yet. For all the happiness and joy that Gibbs showed in public, he was still awake at three in the morning because he couldn't sleep. He was still haunted by what happened and the consequences of his actions.

Which leads me to the last (maybe) chapter with Gibbs and McGee talking in the basement in _Twofer_. We got to see part of it in the show but I feel like they talked about more than what we saw. I have parts of this written so hopefully it won't be so long until the next update!


	9. Avoiding the Problem

**Chapter 9 – Avoiding the Problem**

"Hey," Delilah said, startling him. He jolted and dropped the silverware he was washing into the sink, splashing soapy water down his front. "I'm sorry Tim. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right," he said as he fished out the forks again. "I just didn't realize you came back to the kitchen," he said. He pulled the plug on the sink.

"You've been quiet all night," she said. "Something on your mind?"

He took a moment to rinse the silverware and his hands. Once he dropped the silverware into the drain board, he turned around and wiped his hands on a towel.

"Just work," he replied. "Nothing bad," he added.

"It doesn't have anything to do with your doctor's appointment?" she asked as she looked at him.

"Huh? No," he said as he set the towel aside. "I told you, the doctor gave me a clean bill of health," he said as he led the way into their living room.

"Not that doctor," Delilah said as she followed him. "Your psych eval?"

"Oh," he said as he sat down on the couch. "That." She looked at him meaningfully. "Yeah, I actually missed my appointment because of work," he said hoping that Delilah wouldn't catch that he was stretching the truth.

He had dropped Bishop off at Coyne's gym and he had every intention of driving straight to Bethesda to keep his appointment with Doctor Confalone. But the further he drove the more he felt like he couldn't breathe. He kept running through the multitudes of dreams he had experienced since returning home and what Doctor Confalone might make of them. He really wanted to be back to work but he wasn't sure that he could mask his anxiety from a trained professional.

So instead of going to the appointment, he had driven back to NCIS and tried to focus on work.

"I was across town on an interview," he added.

"Oh," she said as she shifted herself onto the couch next to him. "Well not that I'm complaining but I'm surprised to see you home so early if you have a case."

"Our suspect lawyered up," he replied. "We didn't have any other leads, so I came home. Just trying to ease back into the swing of things, you know?"

She reached out and took his hands, interlacing her fingers into his.

"Yeah," she replied. "I know how hard it can be to go back after a life changing experience." He nodded. He had to admit that there were some parallels between his recovery from his injuries and Delilah's recovery from the bombing even if they were two very different experiences. "I remember how much I just wanted to get back to normal. To get back to the life I had before the bombing."

He twitched slightly as she hit upon what he had been thinking for the last two months.

"But there isn't any way to go back to how it was before," he said finally putting voice to what he hadn't wanted to admit to himself.

"No," she replied. "There isn't." She squeezed his hands. "So, whether it's easing back into work or jumping all in. You just have to do what's best for you."

He looked at her. It wasn't so much of a statement as a question.

"It's a little weird being back," he admitted. "Bishop, Torres, Abby, Ducky, Jimmy, they're all fine. But other people don't know how to react around us. Me and Gibbs." He thought back to the first time he stepped into the office. "I mean, they're happy to see us but they don't know what to say," he said. "I've caught people looking at me but when I look at them, they leave the room." He frowned. "I know why. What happened to us isn't really a secret."

"I'm sure they just don't know what to say," she said.

"I know," he replied. "But not saying anything doesn't help either."

"It'll get better with time, you know this," she said. He nodded. "But it must have been nice getting back to work though. I know you've been annoyed, rattling around the apartment this last month without that much to do."

"More like I've been annoying you," he said. She shook her head. "I know I didn't make it easier for you to work from home."

"Well, no," she replied. "But trust me, I was never annoyed with you being here. Even if it did take longer to do my work, it was worth every minute, Tim." He nodded but internally he frowned. He had been trying to get back to normal. And in normal, Delilah would not have let him off the hook for annoying her while she was trying to work. She squeezed his hand to draw his attention. "Do you remember what you told me when you came to pick me up for the Conrad Gala?"

"I said a lot of things when I came to pick you up for the Gala," he said with a laugh.

After the debacle with the tux and Delilah realizing that he hadn't wanted to go with her for reasons unknown, he had said a lot of things in his long rambling apology when he showed up at her door with a single sunflower. How she had made any sense out of his stream of consciousness still impressed him to this day. But even more importantly, he had been relieved that she had forgiven him.

"The part about being scared," she supplied.

"That being in love with you scared the hell out of me," he said softly. "And that I was pushing you away because I was afraid of allowing myself to love someone so much that I actually ached at the thought of ever losing you." He looked at her. She was smiling fondly at the memory. It was probably the one good thing that had happened that day. "I almost lost you twice that day. Once to my own stupidity and once because of a terrorist."

"You've been in danger plenty of times since we started dating," she said softly. "But I've never been afraid like I was when you went missing." She looked at him. "It put things into perspective. There's always more work. There isn't always more time with the people we love. So, yes, maybe I was annoyed that you were interrupting me," she said wryly. "But I'm not ready to take you for granted just yet. Especially not now," she said as she rubbed her growing belly. "Because there are so many things that I'm grateful we'll be able to share together."

"Yeah," he said as he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"When did you reschedule the appointment?" she asked.

"Oh," he said as he realized she hadn't forgotten that he had said he had rescheduled his psych eval. Vance had given him until the end of the day tomorrow to see Doctor Confalone or else he was going to be back on medical leave until he did. "I got an evening appointment tomorrow."

Doctor Confalone's secretary had been given orders to make room for his appointment whenever he was available. He had insisted that he hadn't wanted to put anyone else out and finally got her to schedule an appointment for the early evening. It allowed him to meet the Director's order to see Doctor Confalone by the end of the day and it gave him time to figure out just what he was going to say that wouldn't get him benched.

"I'm not going to be home in time to cook dinner," he warned her.

"I'll get takeout," she said. "And I'll keep yours warm for as long as needed." He nodded. "Tim, I know you know this is important. How many full night's sleep have you gotten since you came home?"

"A few," he replied. She frowned. "I'm not lying."

"I know," she replied. "I could count the nights you didn't toss and turn on one hand."

He frowned. It was bad enough that he wasn't sleeping. He didn't want to make it harder on Delilah to get her rest. She was tired enough with the baby.

"Tim, I'm less worried about my lost sleep than I am about you," she said. "Talking to Dr. Confalone should help," she said. He nodded even as he had his doubts. He helped her to her chair but before she moved, she looked at him. "You know it's ok to need help, right?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Doesn't mean it'll be easy," she warned. "It wasn't easy for me after I was injured," she said motioning to her chair. "But I got through it because I had someone amazing who was at my side every step of the way." He looked at her questioningly and she rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about you Tim."

Taken by surprise, he smiled bashfully. "Sorry. I mostly remember that I annoyed you a lot."

"Only because you were trying to help," she said. "And that was very sweet. I _was_ frustrated but it was because I had to relearn how to live with this," she said motioning to her legs and the chair. "And that was something you couldn't do for me." He nodded in concession. "I know that I've been annoying you to talk to me because I want to help."

"You're not annoying me," he started to say but she cut him off. She looked at him meaningfully. Once again, he couldn't deny the parallels between their experiences. "You _are_ helping me, Dee." He took her hand and kissed it. "Just being here. Being you has helped more than I can put into words."

She smiled warmly. For a moment, she seemed like she wanted to say more but then she changed her mind.

"I'm going to get ready for bed," she said.

"Ok," he said as he held her chair steady while she shifted into it. "I'll be there in a few."

After she had gone, he got up and checked the apartment to make sure that everything was taken care of. Once he turned out the lights, he made his way into their bedroom to change. He had just pulled off his shirt when Delilah came out of the bathroom. She looked at him before she hastily turned towards the side table.

He frowned as he pulled on his t-shirt. Even though they had faded, he still bore some of the marks from the last time that El Doctor had used the taser on him. The addition of water had made the burns worse. They were fading but not as quickly as the other marks.

He hastily made his way into the bathroom to escape the uncomfortable silence. After brushing his teeth, he returned to their bedroom to find that Delilah had shifted herself into bed.

"It must have been good to see Gibbs," she said as she applied some lotion to her arms and elbows.

"It was," he replied as he climbed into bed. He checked his phone and didn't note any new emails. Setting the phone onto the side table, he said, "He looks good too."

He thought back to this morning when he first saw Gibbs.

He hadn't been sure what he had expected to feel when he saw Gibbs again. The main feeling had been relief. Relief that Gibbs looked healthy, fit and of all things, _smiling._ Of course, a haircut, shave, and clean clothes would make anyone look and feel better. And he supposed that Gibbs smiled because Gibbs was happy to see that he was back to full health too.

Before Paraguay, he'd have never imagined that Gibbs would ever voluntarily hug him. And he definitely never imagined himself hugging his boss. But Paraguay was unlike anything he'd ever experienced in his life. Through Injuries, illness and despair, they had seen each other at their lowest. And with their small cell, personal boundaries weren't important when they were trying to avoid hypothermia or after a particularly bad day in El Doctor's room.

But this wasn't Paraguay and without prompting, Gibbs had pulled him into a hug. It should have been weird and awkward, but it had been _comforting._ It had been comforting to know that Gibbs had recovered from the injuries Gibbs had suffered protecting him. And despite the hundreds of times he had mentally rehearsed what he would say when he saw Gibbs again, words had failed him. That one embrace, though, had said pretty much everything he had wanted to say.

But as they day wore on, things got increasingly weird between them.

In the squad room, he had caught himself looking up at Gibbs just to make sure he was all right. In Paraguay, he knew that they'd only survive if they worked together. He spent two months, constantly keeping watch over Gibbs just like Gibbs kept watch over him.

Gibbs never really had much to say but after two months confined to a small room and seeing his boss at his lowest, he had learned to read the different tones of Gibbs' silence. He had learned to read the subtle signs and ascertain when Gibbs was in pain or feeling sick. And it had become a habit to constantly check on his boss because he knew Gibbs would rather suffer in silence than worry him.

It was even more awkward when Ellie noticed that he and Gibbs kept looking at each other.

He had resolved to speak to Gibbs in private, but the opportunity had never presented itself.

"We didn't really get a chance to catch up though," he said as he settled into bed. "Not with the case."

"Well, tell him I'd like to see him soon," she said as she shut off her light and settled in next to him. He looked at her questioningly. "I want to see my man of honor for myself." Taken off guard, he snorted causing Delilah to giggle.

"I'll tell him," he said. "Good night."

"Good night," Delilah replied.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and allowed himself to fall asleep.

"Agent McGee, if you don't mind stowing that novel in your bag, we're ready to begin," Agent Quinn said drawing his attention. He hastily tucked the paperback into his backpack and looked up. "Today we begin the fun part of our training," Agent Quinn said. "Weapons training. But before you ever take a shot, we're going to learn everything there is to know about this weapon. Disassembly, cleaning, mechanics and reassembly. Please collect your weapon when your name is called. Adams."

When his name was called, he collected his weapon and returned to his desk. He looked at it and for the first time it occurred to him that he had selected a career that would require him to be armed. Somehow that hadn't occurred to him when he had made the decision to apply to NCIS.

"Have you ever handled a weapon before?"

"Uh," he said as he looked at his tablemate, Jim Nelson. "Once, yeah," he replied. "Never had any formal training though."

The summer before his senior year in high school, he had been invited to a field party. His father's ship had deployed taking most of his classmate's fathers with it. The party was a mixture of an end of summer blowout, an expression of newfound freedom and a coping method to deal with the fact that most of their fathers had deployed.

There had been a keg, a bonfire and someone had a boombox for some music. He wasn't really interested in getting drunk or smoking the weed that some of school stoners had brought since he hadn't exactly enjoyed his previous experience with it. So instead, he had nursed a beer, chatted with a girl named Chloe who was going to be in his computer class and did his best to avoid looking like the son of the naval officer who commanded most of his classmate's fathers.

At some point, one of the jocks on the football team produced his father's sidearm and they decided that it was a good idea to take turns shooting at beer bottles, which combined with alcohol wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do.

Being one of the few sober ones left at the party, he made his way over to the makeshift firing range to make sure that no one got hurt. For some reason, he felt responsible for ensuring their safety. Maybe it was because his father was responsible for their fathers' safety. It was like a trickle-down effect of his father's command.

At some point, one of the jocks noticed him watching them and tried to goad him into taking a shot. He had tried to beg off, but they interpreted his reticence for fear. And being drunk, they fed off that and started to tease him until he finally gave in.

He took the weapon, took aim and fired exactly one shot that took out a beer bottle. It hadn't been the one he had been aiming at, but he wasn't about to tell the jocks that.

They were impressed enough that they left him alone. It had also impressed Chloe enough that she came back to talk to him, and they had ended up sitting by the bonfire for the rest of the night.

"You look like that gun's about ready to bite you," Jim said.

He shrugged. "I just don't know much about guns. Let's say I have a healthy dose of respect for a weapon that could kill me."

He didn't add that his father had put the fear of God, so to speak, into him as a young boy. He hadn't even touched the box where his father stored his gun but that didn't matter to his dad. He still remembered the stern lecture about the dangers of firearms that he got for just _looking_ at the gun safe a little too curiously.

Jim laughed. "That's inexperience talking," Jim said. "I was talking with Quinn about this section of FLETC. I was hoping I could skip it given my training but it's mandatory. She said it'll be a good refresher course, which I took as sit down, shut up, and pay attention anyway."

He laughed. Quinn did seem to enjoy yelling at them.

"You were in the military?" he asked.

"Navy," Jim replied. "Master at Arms, that's…"

"Naval security," he said. "I was a navy brat. Still am, I guess. My father is in the navy."

"You aren't related to a Captain McGee, are you?" Jim asked.

"That's my father," he said. "He's an Admiral now. You served under him?"

Jim nodded. "He Captained the USS Enterprise when I served aboard her. He runs a tight ship." He snorted involuntarily. "Guess that translates to the homelife too." He nodded. "He might have been strict, but he was probably one of the better COs I had. He had high standards, but he was fair." Jim looked at him. "Don't worry about this Tim," Jim said as he motioned to their weapons. "I'll help you through this part if you help me through the cyber security portion. I've heard you're pretty good with computers."

"You could say that," he said as he looked down at the gun, now feeling less apprehensive about this part of his training. "Thanks."

"I know you'll do just fine," Jim said. "Afterall, you're still alive and I'm not."

Turning, he looked at Jim, but instead of the fresh-faced young man, he saw the burned and shrapnel ridden version he remembered from the empty storefront where Jim had died.

Jolting awake, he took a deep breath and let it out as he realized he was in his bed with Delilah next to him. With a small sigh of relief, he realized that he hadn't woke her with his nightmare.

He had gotten to be good friends with Jim during his NCIS training and undoubtedly, it was his help with the firearms portion of the training that helped him pass his firearms quals.

Jim's death had hit him hard. Not only had he lost a good friend, but if not for Gibbs getting them out of a weekend detail, it would have been their team caught in the blast.

But it had been ten years since Jim Nelson had been killed in the bombing at that storefront. Why dream about him now?

Although, now that he thought about it, he was seeing some parallels between him and his friend. Jim Nelson had been killed two months after his wedding. Considering how close he had come to death during their escape from the ship, he should have died two months after his too.

But he had survived.

It was yet another close call over the course of his career. And it was yet another dream about one of his close calls. The closer he got to getting back to work, the more his dreams had morphed from the torture he and Gibbs had suffered in Paraguay to the near-death experiences he had since joining NCIS.

Even if it wasn't directly related, these dreams still had to do with Paraguay.

Suddenly he heard Delilah murmur in her sleep.

He glanced at the clock. Two-thirty. Looking back to Delilah, he saw she was still sound asleep.

Getting out of bed carefully, he dressed and grabbed his wallet and keys. The more he thought about it, the less he was sure that Dr. Grace had the answers he needed. There was one person he could talk to though, and he seemed to have figured out how to deal with what happened to them in Paraguay.

He left their apartment and drove to Gibbs' house. The streets were dark and quiet, which made his trip faster. When he pulled up to Gibbs' house, he noted the lights were on in the hallway that led to his basement which told him Gibbs was still awake.

He looked at his Boss' house for a moment as he tried to decide whether it was a good idea to try to talk to Gibbs about his problem. What would Gibbs think of him if he found out how much trouble he was having dealing with everything?

For a split second, he thought about going home but instead of putting the car in drive, he turned it off and got out of his car. Gibbs was handling what happened to them in Paraguay far better than him. And if Gibbs couldn't tell him how to sort himself out, he wasn't sure that anyone could.

The cool air was bracing as he walked up the path. When he reached the front door, he was surprised to find that was locked.

"Weird," he muttered as he looked around. There was a doorbell, but he wasn't sure it worked. Taking a chance, he pushed the button and waited as a nearby dog barked to alert the neighborhood to his presence.

A moment later, Gibbs opened the door and stepped back, allowing him to enter.

"Since when do you lock your door?" he asked as he looked at Gibbs. Thankfully he had changed out of the clothes he had been wearing earlier, although he could still smell the faint traces of embalming fluid and decay. Gibbs was now wearing a collared shirt, a dusty work apron and an old pair of camouflage pants telling him that he had been working in his basement rather than sleeping.

Gibbs looked at him meaningfully and he realized he had the answer to his own question. Gibbs could only have started locking his door within the last two months.

"Ah. Right."

Gibbs closed and locked the door behind him.

"Problem sleeping?" Gibbs asked as he immediately turned and made for the basement.

"Oh, I could ask you the same thing," he said as he followed Gibbs through the living room.

"Not enough to show up at your place at three a.m.," Gibbs retorted.

"Well," he said with a sigh. "I didn't want to keep Delilah up another night with my tossing and turning."

"What's going on?" Gibbs asked as he hurried down the stairs.

"Well, maybe it's all that time we spent sleeping on that cell floor," he replied as he followed Gibbs. "Mattresses are hard to get used to again."

"Yeah?" Gibbs asked. From the sounds of things, Gibbs wasn't buying his excuse, but he didn't challenge him either. "How's Delilah doing? How's the baby?"

He watched as Gibbs dumped out a mason jar and blew out the dust.

"Baby's good," he replied. "Delilah's fantastic. We came from an ultrasound a few days ago. We don't want to know what we're having, but, uh, baby's growing."

That wasn't strictly true. They had gone to the ultrasound appointment, but the doctor had decided against doing the actual ultrasound upon advice from Delilah's physiatrist. There was a risk, albeit a small one, that the ultrasound could heat up the shrapnel in her spine and do more damage. Even though she lacked the muscle control to walk, she had some feeling below her hips, and they didn't want to risk further damage.

And strictly speaking, Delilah was the one who didn't want to know what they were having. It was killing him to be in the dark.

"So, what are you doing here?" Gibbs asked while he poured a drink. Gibbs turned and handed him the mason jar with the amber liquid inside. He took it but didn't answer as Gibbs looked him over. "We spent two months, Tim, getting beat up, tortured, starved. All that time I never saw you as scared as you are right now."

"I'm not scared, boss," he said shaking his head. Of all the emotions he had felt since getting home, fear hadn't been one of them. But he could see that Gibbs didn't believe him. "To be honest with you, I don't know what I am. I don't know what to feel or why I'm feeling like I do."

"So why'd you blow off Grace?"

"Boss, we can't all be you, okay?" he retorted. "You came home from Paraguay like it was nothing." He watched as Gibbs calmly sipped his drink and for some reason that annoyed him even more. "But maybe I can't do that. And you had it worse than I did. And you're cracking jokes and smiling like you never have before."

"Who said that I had it worse?" Gibbs asked.

"Gibbs, you were beat more, you were tortured more," he protested.

"And you had to watch," Gibbs said, meeting his eye. "Just because I'm cracking jokes, Tim, doesn't mean I'm okay." He blinked as he realized what Gibbs was admitting to him. "I'm okay enough. Maybe," Gibbs added softly.

"Enough to pass your psych eval," he said getting to the part that had been worrying about for months.

"Yeah. You don't think you will?" Gibbs asked realizing why he hadn't gone to his appointment.

"What if I don't?" he asked. "What if I can't fake it like you?"

"Fake it?" Gibbs asked angrily. He instantly regretted his choice of words. "Wait, no, no, who's faking it here?"

"Boss, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," he said hastily. "Look, all I'm trying to tell you is I feel like I feel like the guy who's avoiding the doctor because he doesn't want to find out how sick he is."

"No, you're not like that guy, McGee," Gibbs said firmly. "You _are_ that guy. Just go. Just go."

Suddenly Gibbs' phone started to ring.

"What if I have to keep going?" he asked, afraid of the answer. He didn't want to think that the events in Paraguay would impact him for the rest of his life. He didn't want to think that maybe the nightmares might persist forever. He didn't want to worry that his experiences would change the man Delilah had fallen in love with and married.

"I'll see you there," Gibbs said as he turned to answer the phone. "I guess," Gibbs added indicating he thought it could be a while before he was through talking with Doctor Grace.

As he watched Gibbs set down the coffee cup, he realized that Gibbs' trip to see Doctor Confalone hadn't been just to get reinstated. He had never considered that Gibbs would go back for a second appointment or continued appointments from the sounds of things. Gibbs had _actually_ gone because he felt that he needed help.

For the first time, he allowed himself to consider that Gibbs wasn't ok. That Paraguay had been just as traumatic for Gibbs as it had been for him. And he wasn't sure if that was comforting or terrifying. If Gibbs couldn't handle it…

Gibbs answered his phone, interrupting his thoughts.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs," Abby said as Gibbs put her on speakerphone. "I was right. Toxic Lady."

"Who?" Gibbs asked. The only lady in their case had been the dead woman that Coyne had been buried with and they had never met prior to being interred together.

"Blunt force trauma may have knocked out Lieutenant Coyne, but it was a cocktail of drugs in his liver that killed him," Jimmy said.

"Fentanyl, dimethyl sulfoxide and a whole bunch of ibuprofen," Abby said.

"It was a triple dose, most likely for the pain in his shoulder," Jimmy interjected.

"That combo of drugs was put into pill form, which crystallized when Jimmy cut into the liver and the fumes just knocked him out," Abby said. Suddenly he realized that the Toxic Lady was a medical case that she was referring to which would explain how Coyne had died.

"Now, ibuprofen is sold over the counter," Jimmy said. "But where would Lieutenant Coyne go to get all those other drugs?"

"No," he said. Fentanyl and dimethyl sulfoxide were both pain killers and Coyne had been prescribed neither, which meant that he was self-medicating. Their drug dealer, Vairo, sold street drugs not designer painkillers that an athlete would need. A gym would be a great front to sell those types of drugs. And it would also explain why Vairo would rob a gym. If Coyne had been dealing, Vairo could have gone there to rob him of his profits. "Question is, who would've slipped them to him?"

"We can think of someone," Gibbs said.

"We?" Abby asked. "Was that McGee?"

"I'm not in charge, Abby," Gibbs said. "Call Bishop. Tell her."

"Wait," Abby protested. "Why is McGee…"

Gibbs ended the call, cutting her off before she could ask why he was with Gibbs in the middle of the night.

"I think we need to look into Pete Wilkins again," he said.

"Yeah," Gibbs replied as he examined him. "Don't change the subject. Why are you so afraid of going to see Grace?"

"I don't know," he replied as firmly as he could. Gibbs stared at him and from his expression, he could see that Gibbs didn't believe him. He shifted nervously at Gibbs' intense expression but he remained defiant. Gibbs cocked his head, silently questioning him. Buckling under the pressure, he slumped and admitted, "I don't know that I'm ok Gibbs."

Without a word, Gibbs tossed his phone onto the table and motioned for him to take a seat on the floor.

Sitting down, he leaned against Gibbs' work bench and rested his hands on his knees. The hard surfaces were strangely comforting.

Gibbs grabbed his coffee cup and sat next to him.

They sat in silence for a long time while he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. The problem was, there were so many thoughts racing through his head. The anxiety of trying to put voice to everything that he was feeling was almost overwhelming.

Suddenly he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. Turning, he saw that Gibbs was looking at him with concern.

"Talk to me, Tim," Gibbs said.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I'm not sure where to start," he said as he looked at the Bourbon in his mason jar. "I don't even know how to explain everything I'm feeling."

Gibbs wrapped his hands around his mug and looked at the contents.

"Anxiety?" Gibbs asked suddenly.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Stress?" Gibbs asked. He nodded. "Guilt?" He nodded again. "Nightmares?" He jerked. "Yeah, me too," Gibbs said as he looked at him. He knew Gibbs had a rule about lying but from his expression and the tone of his voice, he could tell that Gibbs was being honest with him. "All of it. But mostly the last part," Gibbs finished as he sipped his drink.

He looked at Gibbs, surprised that he was being so candid.

"How are you dealing with them? The nightmares?" he asked before he thought better of it.

Gibbs snorted and motioned to his boat. "You're lookin' at it." Smiling bashfully, he shrugged. That was an obvious answer. Bourbon. Boat. Basement. "But that's not exactly solving the problem either."

"Doctor Grace," he inferred. Gibbs shrugged lightly. "You think she can help?"

"Dunno," Gibbs replied. "Didn't really get into things this afternoon. But I know that ignoring it hasn't worked so far. Unless it's working better for you than me."

He snorted. "I think it's evident that it isn't," he said causing Gibbs to smile slightly. "I keep thinking things will get better with time, but it hasn't."

"What we went through," Gibbs said slowly. "It was a lot for anyone. No shame in havin' trouble dealing with it, Tim."

"I'm not ashamed," he said quickly. "I'm frustrated." Taking a deep breath, he let it out. "For as long as I can remember, there hasn't been a puzzle that I haven't been able to figure out. But here I am, and I can't figure out my own head."

"Makes two of us," Gibbs said to his surprise. "I've been through a lot in my life. I've cheated death more times than I can count. Was blown up twice. Three times if you count the Navy Yard bombing," Gibbs said as he looked into his mug. "Shot at. Shot down and _actually_ shot." Gibbs looked at him. "But no matter which way I look at this, Paraguay was different." He watched as Gibbs' brows knit together in thought. "The jokes, the smiling, it just means something's not quite right with me, and I think you know that too."

"I see it now," he replied. "But this morning, I just figured you were embracing your second chance," he said.

Gibbs smiled wryly. "Maybe some of it is." Gibbs' smile faded and he shrugged lightly. "Some of it isn't. Some of it is a reaction to what we went through." Gibbs took a sip of his drink and looked at his boat thoughtfully. "It's an overreaction to what we went through."

"Whiplash," he said. Gibbs looked at him questioningly. "The day after we got home, I was talking to Tony and he asked how I was doing. And honestly, I had no idea how to answer him. You'd think that after being held captive for two months, thinking that every day might be my last, that I'd never see Delilah or our child, that the answer would be easy." He looked at the amber liquid in his glass before he looked at Gibbs. "But it wasn't. It was such a sudden change to be home and safe and with Delilah again that it was just as hard to process as dealing with a trip to El Doctor's room."

"I felt kinda numb for the first few days," Gibbs said.

"Yeah," he replied, happy that Gibbs understood what he meant. "I know I was happy to be home with Delilah. I know I was grateful to have enough food, a soft bed to sleep in, a shower and an actual bathroom." Gibbs chuckled and nodded. "But it took a lot longer to feel normal again."

"You feel normal?" Gibbs asked incredulously.

"I guess not," he admitted. "If I did, I wouldn't be sitting on your basement floor at three in the morning."

"So why'd you blow off Grace?" Gibbs asked again. He clenched his jaw. "I know you know that talking to her can only help you."

"Yeah," he replied. "But I also know that I need to get back to work. I need something to do other than sitting around my apartment thinking about what happened. And if she didn't reinstate me, I might go stir crazy."

"I thought you were fixin' up the baby's room," Gibbs said. He looked at Gibbs, wondering how his boss knew that. They hadn't talked since their return. "Bishop and Abby mentioned it," Gibbs supplied.

"I finished that a couple weeks ago," he replied. And that led to another set of issues and anxiety, but he wasn't about to bring that up to Gibbs right now. He needed to work on solving one problem at a time and he had months to go before the baby was born. "When I left Coyne's house, I had every intention of driving to my appointment. I did."

"So what happened?" Gibbs asked.

"I dunno. The more I drove, the harder it was to breathe," he admitted. "Next thing I know, I'm at NCIS telling Vance that something came up with Delilah and I'm telling Delilah that something came up at work." He shook his head slightly. "So, I guess, I am a little scared."

"That you won't get reinstated," Gibbs inferred.

"That's part of it," he replied. "Mostly I'm scared that _this_ is my new normal."

"The nightmares," Gibbs said.

"Yeah," he replied. "Ya know, I just want one night where I'm not waking up in a cold sweat because we're running the gauntlet again or El Doctor's coming at me with a taser." He cut himself off before he gave voice to any more of his nightmares. He sighed. He didn't even want to try to explain the nightmares that ended with Saleem or Ari making a cameo. "I mean, it's bad enough that I can't sleep, but I know I keep waking Delilah too and she needs her rest."

Lifting the mason jar to his lips, he took a small sip.

Bourbon had never been his drink of choice but for some reason, sitting on the floor in Gibbs' basement, it tasted pretty good. Of course, Gibbs kept the good stuff in his basement, so that probably helped. And after talking so much, it soothed his parched throat and it warmed him slightly as he swallowed.

"And you're frustrated because you think you had it easy in Paraguay?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, comparatively," he objected. "They tortured you far more…"

"We faced death every day for two months," Gibbs said cutting him off. "But the beatings, the starvation, that wasn't the worst part." He looked at Gibbs expectantly as Gibbs took a sip of his drink to brace himself. Knowing that he wasn't going to like what his boss said, no matter what it was, he took a sip of his drink as well. "That was when they forced me to watch."

Still taken by surprise, he swallowed hard as he recalled the numerous times where he had been forced to watch as Gibbs had been tortured by El Doctor or as the crew took their wrath out on Gibbs because his boss was protecting him. And every time, he had been forced to watch, utterly helpless to do anything.

"Not being able to do anything," Gibbs said softly. "Being forced to stand by as you were put through hell? That was a hundred times worse than any pain El Doctor could put me through."

"Yeah," he replied tightly.

"Don't diminish what you went through Tim," Gibbs said. "Taking a few less punches didn't make your time on that ship any easier than mine. Just made it different. And I dunno…" Gibbs thought for a moment. "Maybe even harder. I just know it wasn't something I could have done."

He blinked in confusion and looked at his drink. He hadn't had more than a third of it yet, so it wasn't the alcohol messing with his thought process. It sounded to him that Gibbs was implying that what he went through had been harder. And that didn't make much sense, which must mean he was more tired than he thought.

"Just why do you think I taunted all those guys?" Gibbs asked.

"You were protecting me," he replied. "Which I told you not to do a hundred times. And you ignored a hundred times."

"Because I couldn't stand watching them hurt you, Tim!" Gibbs said sharply.

Gibbs took a breath and looked at his hand for a moment before he looked at him. Gibbs usually concealed his thoughts and emotions but the guilt he was feeling for everything that had happened was laid bare. Every punch, every injury, every shock from the taser had hurt him but it had been a hundred times as painful for Gibbs to watch him suffer.

"What I did. Staying behind to draw the RAC's fire. It was to protect you," Gibbs said finally. "To give you, Torres and those kids a chance to escape."

"And I ruined that by staying behind," he said wryly. He watched as Gibbs rolled his eyes irritably. "I know you'd do anything to protect me Gibbs. You pushed me out of the way of a speeding car once, remember?" Gibbs nodded. "Although I think you enjoyed me chauffeuring you around a little too much afterwards."

"Maybe," Gibbs said with a chuckle.

"You know its funny," he said as he sipped his drink. "Torres came by to see me after we got home, and he looked just as guilty as you look now." When Gibbs didn't deny it, he continued, "All this time, he's been feeling guilty because I got off the helo and that he hadn't."

"Still waiting for this to get funny," Gibbs muttered.

"Torres was mad that I didn't tell him what I was doing when I jumped out of the helo to help you," he said. "He didn't realize what was happening until after the helo lifted off and he _couldn't_ follow us."

"He's pissed that he didn't get stuck in Paraguay and spend two months being tortured?" Gibbs asked incredulously.

"No," he replied. "He's pissed because he feels like he let us down. That he didn't protect us."

"There was nothing he could have done!" Gibbs countered.

"I know and I told him that," he replied evenly. "When he asked why I didn't ask him to come with when I joined you, I told him I never considered it. Because as senior field agent, I protect my people too," he said pointedly. Gibbs shook his head. He still didn't understand the point of his story. "What I mean is: it's a two-way street, Gibbs. You, me, Bishop, Torres, we're a team and we protect each other."

Gibbs relaxed and nodded. He held up his mug and said, "Yeah."

Clinking his mason jar with Gibbs' coffee cup, he silently toasted his boss then they both took a sip. Whether it was the drink or the conversation or both, he could feel himself relaxing and the knot of anxiety that he had been feeling for weeks was easing.

And yet, something that Gibbs had said was bugging him.

"I'm not so sure that taking all those beatings was just to protect me," he said, emboldened by their candid conversation. Gibbs looked at him. "I saw the guilt in your eyes, Gibbs. When I was sick. When I was hurt. You didn't take all those beatings just to protect me. You were punishing yourself because you were feeling guilty that I stayed behind."

Gibbs looked like he wanted to deny it but instead he sighed.

"Yeah," Gibbs said softly. "Never thought of it that way while we were there."

"You didn't owe me any penance Gibbs," he said. "I made my own choice. And I'd make the same one again even knowing what we'd have to go through before being rescued."

"I owed it to myself," Gibbs retorted. "Or at least I felt like I did," Gibbs said as he looked at him. "And I justified it by telling myself I was protecting you from harm. But my actions still had consequences. If I couldn't bear to watch them hurt you…" Gibbs sighed. "I knew it was hard on you, Tim. Seeing all that." He nodded and finished his drink. "Bruises fade but some of our worst injuries never leave a mark."

"And they take longer to heal," he added.

"You've always been stronger than you think you are," Gibbs said softly. "But some fights can't be won on their own."

"Rule twenty-eight," he replied. "If you need help, ask."

"Yeah," Gibbs said as he finished his drink. "Give Grace a chance. She knows what she's doing. And I trust her."

He nodded. He knew that Doctor Confalone was highly regarded in her field but knowing that Gibbs trusted her might just be the most glowing recommendation he'd ever heard.

"I'll try Gibbs," he said as he stood up. He offered Gibbs a hand. "I know it won't be easy though."

"The things that are worth it, never are," Gibbs replied as he accepted the hand up.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost five o'clock. He'd get home just in time to get ready for work.

"I doubt Bishop would mind if you came in a little late," Gibbs said.

"Not sure it's worth trying to go back to sleep," he replied as he set his mason jar onto the work bench. "I just hope I make it home before Delilah wakes up. I didn't leave a note to let her know where I went, and I've been worrying her enough lately."

"We worry about the ones we love, Tim," Gibbs said. He could see the tinge of sadness in Gibbs' eye. And for a split second, he felt guilty that he was going home to Delilah and their baby while Gibbs was left in his empty home, constantly reminded of his wife and daughter that he lost. "Which is why it's your job to do everything you can to get yourself right. Or as right as you can. You have a family to take care of now."

"You do too," he said before he could stop himself.

"I know," Gibbs replied, meeting his eye. "It's why I'm seeing Grace." Strangely reassured, he nodded. "But she'll never really understand what it was like down there. For us."

He nodded.

"That's why I came here," he admitted.

Gibbs nodded. "Which is why you ever need to talk again, my door is always open, Tim," Gibbs said.

"Your door was locked," he said wryly.

"Since when has a locked door stopped you?" Gibbs retorted.

"Not since you taught me how to pick a lock," he replied. Gibbs smiled. "Although, it's probably not a good look for me to continuously break into your house."

"If you need it, I'll get you a key," Gibbs said seriously.

He nodded. "We'll see, Gibbs," he replied. "I'll give Grace a chance."

"Good," Gibbs said as he pulled him into a hug. Momentarily surprised, he tensed before he returned the hug.

When they separated, Gibbs looked at his beard.

"Oh," he replied as he rubbed his chin. "I tried out a few different styles when I was shaving and I kinda liked this one."

He stood still as Gibbs appraised his new look.

"It suits you," Gibbs said finally.

He relaxed.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you since we got home," he said but Gibbs shook his head.

"Don't apologize," Gibbs replied.

"It's a sign of weakness," he interjected but Gibbs shook his head.

"It's not that," Gibbs replied. "Definitely not that." Gibbs sighed. "It's not like I came to see you either." Looking at Gibbs, he realized that Gibbs felt guilty for not checking on him for the last two months. "I shoulda made sure you were ok. I got you into this situation, Tim. Shoulda made sure you were getting out of it." Gibbs met his eye. "All the way out."

"You will," he replied. "And I'll make sure you come with me." Gibbs smiled slightly and nodded. "You should come over for dinner this weekend. Delilah wants to see you." He watched as Gibbs tensed and frowned. "She doesn't blame you for what happened Gibbs," he said. "She worried about you too."

"Surprised she wants to see the man who almost got her husband killed," Gibbs said softly.

"She wants to see the man who saved my life and the one that protects it with everything he's got," he said firmly. When Gibbs didn't look convinced, he added, "The day we got home, I was feeling guilty that I had put her through so much while we were missing. Delilah reminded me that we did what we did because it was the _right_ thing to do." Gibbs nodded. "And that I got off that helicopter because you would have done the same thing for me."

"Yeah," Gibbs said softly.

"That loyalty we have," he continued, drawing Gibbs' full attention. "The willingness to do anything to save each other. She knows that you or Bishop or Torres would put your life on the line to protect me. And because of that, its easier for her to accept the danger that comes with the job. Because she trusts you to have my back too."

"It's a two-way street," Gibbs said. He nodded. "Ok," Gibbs said.

"Good," he said even as he noted that Gibbs looked a little nervous. "I'll talk it over with her when she wakes up," he said as he looked at his watch. "In thirty-five minutes."

"Go," Gibbs said. "Get home. I'll see you soon enough."

"Yeah," he said as he made his way to the stairs, feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But he stopped on the landing. "Gibbs," he said drawing his attention. "Thanks."

Gibbs met his eye and nodded firmly. "You're welcome, Tim."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** There was a lot in _Twofer_ that I really loved, but by far, the best scene was the one with Tim and Gibbs in his basement. Throughout the episode, we watched McGee pretend like nothing was wrong while Gibbs was acting like a totally different person. But in the privacy of Gibbs' basement, we finally get to see that they're both struggling with what happened.

It wasn't much but when Tim says that Gibbs was tortured more and Gibbs countered that Tim had to watch, that told me a lot about what they went through in Paraguay. Gibbs might have physically protected McGee but the consequence was that he exposed Tim to more emotional trauma. I always felt that they had a much longer talk than what we got to see which is what I wanted to show here. Tim has a lot of issues stemming from Paraguay and he's only partially candid with Gibbs here. The chat with Gibbs was the push Tim needed to go see Grace and start down his road to recovery but in my mind, this isn't the last chat that Tim and Gibbs have in the basement over a mason jar of Bourbon.

Initially I was thinking that this would be the last chapter but I think I need to add one more to really button things up. So stay tuned!


	10. Moving Forward

**Chapter 10 – Moving Forward**

He had forgotten how good it felt to close a case.

Of course, it _had_ been a while. Four months to be exact. Four _long_ months.

So long ago that it seemed like it had been in another life that he had stood in the galley of the USS McGuire where they confronted Stoddard for his actions.

Catching Wilkins and getting him to confess to the circumstances surrounding Coyne's death had been satisfying. Considering the evidence, he wasn't sure what case the DA would make but they at least had closure. Coyne was no longer missing and they had determined the circumstances surrounding his death and how he had ended up sharing a casket with its rightful owner.

Interestingly enough, he had been worried about Tim during both cases. Only this time it wasn't a medical issue but a mental health one that had him worried about the younger man.

After their talk in his basement last night, he had hoped to talk with Tim again, but they never had a chance to be alone together. And by the time he returned to NCIS after dropping Wilkins off with the Virginia State police, Tim had already left for his appointment with Doctor Confalone.

While wrapping up his paperwork, he kept checking his watch. He had left strict instructions with the receptionist that he should be called if Tim missed his appointment again. It was fifteen minutes into the session and so far, nothing, which was reassuring.

"Need to be somewhere Gibbs?" Bishop asked as he checked his watch again.

"Yeah," he replied without elaborating.

When Tim had told Vance that he had rescheduled his appointment with Grace at six o'clock, he had called Grace's office and made an appointment directly after Tim's. He hadn't planned to see her again so soon, but if it would help put Tim at ease and get him to open up to Grace, it would be worth it. He had hoped to finish his report before leaving but he was finding it difficult to focus given how much he was worried about Tim.

"Then you should go," Bishop said as she glanced at Torres. "We can handle the paperwork."

"We can?" Torres asked. Bishop shot him a dirty look. "Of course we can," he added hastily.

"You should go," Bishop finished. "Since this'll probably be your last case where you aren't boss. You should enjoy an early night."

Smiling wryly, he didn't argue with her. He highly doubted that he'd have an early night. If things continued as they usually did, he'd wake up sometime in the middle of the night dealing with another nightmare. Although, if there was one good thing to a lack of sleep, it had helped him return to his coffee habit.

Standing up, he grabbed his weapon and clipped it to his belt. With a nod, he left Bishop and Torres and made his way to the elevator. Just as he entered, he heard Torres sarcastically thank Bishop for volunteering them to do the paperwork.

Chuckling, he hit the button for the ground floor and left the building. Traffic wasn't great but he still made it to Grace's office with time to spare.

It was late, almost seven o'clock, which meant that her waiting room was empty. The receptionist had even gone home for the night. So without anything else to do, he sat down and started to rifle through the stacks of magazines on the table until he found something that made him laugh.

A woodworking magazine had been left among the magazines, but from the looks of it, no one had even paged through it yet. Turning it over, he noted that it didn't have a mailing label on it which meant that Grace had likely found one at a newsstand and bought it just for him. It was a small gesture but one that he greatly appreciated, especially since all the other magazines were either entertainment magazines or sports magazines.

Opening the magazine, he paged through it until he found a good article. He had nearly finished it when he heard the door open.

"And I will file your paperwork later tonight and let Director Vance know you're good to go," Grace said as she saw him. Tim followed her gaze so he waved in greeting.

"That'd be great," Tim said. "Hey, boss."

"Told you I'd see you here," he said as he closed the magazine.

He looked at Tim and it was like he was looking at a different man from the one that showed up at his door in the middle of the night. He even looked different from the tired and worried man he had seen this morning at the office. Instead, he seemed relaxed, calm and almost peaceful.

"Been here the entire time?" Tim asked.

"About ten minutes," he replied relieved that Tim looked significantly better. "Keep getting here early. But she's got good magazines." Grace chuckled. "You ready?"

"And able," she said as she returned to her office.

He stood and followed her. As he walked past Tim, he patted him on the stomach.

But as he reached the door, he stopped and turned. "Hey, you going home?" he asked.

Tim smiled slightly and replied, "I'm going to bed." He smiled slightly, happy to hear that Tim didn't seem to be afraid of having another nightmare. "Yeah," Tim said happily as he turned and left.

He was still smiling as he shut the door and grabbed a water.

"You know," Grace said as she watched him. "Considering that you pretty much insisted on having an appointment tonight, I wasn't expecting this."

"This what?" he asked as he sat down.

"I was expecting a little more," she said. "I dunno. Crisis?" she asked. He looked at her with amusement. "Let's face it Gibbs. When I said I wanted to see you again I didn't expect you to come back again so soon." She joined him at the couch. "Actually, I didn't expect to see you at all. Not that I'm complaining. I'm glad to see you back so soon. I just figured you'd take my endorsement for your reinstatement and run."

He snorted.

"Yeah well, maybe next time," he said. "How is McGee? He doing ok?"

"You should have asked him yourself on the way in," Grace said as she sat down.

"I'm asking you," he countered.

"As his superior, I can tell you that McGee is fit to be fully reinstated as an armed federal agent," she replied. He opened his mouth to ask for more but she held up her hand to stop him. "Gibbs you should know better than to ask," she said annoyed. "I can't disclose anything from our sessions without violating my Hippocratic oath. The only way I could possibly consider that would be if a patient is poised to commit a crime or harm themselves. Since I have no reason to believe that McGee is going to do either of those…"

"Doc, easy," he said stopping her. "I was just asking."

"You're worried about him," Grace said as she calmed.

"He came to see me last night," he replied. When he didn't continue, Grace motioned for him to keep going. "We went through a lot together in Paraguay. Enough to shake even the strongest of men and McGee stood tall through everything." He shrugged lightly. "I'd never seen him as rattled as he was last night."

"You talked?" He nodded. "About what?" Grace asked.

Still slightly annoyed that she wouldn't tell him about McGee, he replied, "Not sure I should tell you."

Grace looked at him sourly. "I see," she said. "Trying to turn the tables on me because I wouldn't talk about Tim's therapy session." He shrugged. "Hate to break it to you, Popeye, but talks in your basement over Bourbon don't make you a licensed therapist, so you aren't bound by the Hippocratic oath. And talking to me might just help me help Tim."

He frowned. He might not be a licensed therapist but he knew that some conversations weren't meant to be shared. It wasn't his business to tell Grace anything they had discussed.

"He's coming back?" he asked as he realized what Grace had implied.

After last night, he was convinced that Tim hadn't shared everything that was bothering him. If not for the late hour, he would have poured them another drink and continued their talk. Instead, he had settled for knowing that Tim was going to give Grace a chance and if he didn't, he was prepared to sit Tim down and have another conversation until he did.

"He's going to schedule his next appointment in the morning," Grace said. He nodded. "I take it, he was worried about being reinstated, that I might not find him fit for duty."

"He wasn't the only one," he muttered before he thought better of it.

"But you came, we talked and you're officially Boss again," Grace said. Suddenly she smiled. "Ah, I see what this is. It's not a crisis. This is support." He shook his head, trying to play dumb. "Gibbs, you called my office and _insisted_ that you have an appointment after Tim's. Was it just to show him that therapy isn't so bad if you're coming back for another session?"

He chuckled. "You got me. Can I go now?"

"I cleared my calendar for this appointment," she said dryly. "You've got another," Grace said as she checked her watch. "Fifty-three minutes and I've got nowhere to be."

"Should I go get us some magazines?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards the door.

"I'd rather we talked," she said but he frowned. He _had_ made the appointment to support Tim. He hadn't planned on talking to Grace about anything other than how McGee was handling things even though he should have realized that Grace wouldn't discuss Tim's session. "Now who's worried about their therapy?" Grace countered. "We only scratched the surface yesterday. I know there's a whole lot more you need to talk about Gibbs." He shrugged. "Just when I think we were going to actually take the easy road with you," she added in frustration.

"Whiplash," he said softly.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Whiplash," he replied. It was something that McGee had mentioned last night but it was a good description of what he had been feeling over these last two months. "Just when I think things are going one way, I get jerked back in a different direction." Grace nodded and motioned for him to continue. He opened the bottle of water and took a drink to give himself a moment. "It was a good day yesterday. Aside from the staring."

"Well no one likes being stared at," Grace acknowledged.

"Went to bed last night feeling pretty good," he continued. "Only got a couple hours sleep before I had another nightmare."

"Nightmares are common for you?" she asked. He nodded. "Recurring? Or different?"

"Different," he said. "Mostly. Got some recurring ones though."

"Which one was this?"

He frowned. "A recurring one," he replied. "Me and Tim in El Doctor's room."

"Since I doubt that he was a medical doctor, I suspect that he was responsible for torturing you?"

"Yeah," he said. "Never took us alone though. We were always together."

"So you each had to witness the torture?" Grace asked. He nodded. "You were dreaming of Tim being hurt?" He nodded again and swallowed hard. "Must have been difficult for you." He looked at her incredulously. "Yeah I know. That one was obvious. Anything particular about this dream that stands out?"

He looked at his water bottle. "Not really," he replied. "But it was enough that I knew I wasn't going to get back to sleep. I was awake when Tim showed up at my door in the middle of the night."

Grace opened her mouth to ask more about the dream, but he shook his head slightly. He wasn't ready to talk about that yet. It was hard enough to relive in his nightmares. He couldn't bear to repeat it to someone else again.

"Tell me about Timothy McGee," she said instead. He looked at her questioningly, wondering if she was trying to get him to discuss what he and Tim talked about last night. "I'm not asking about your conversation last night," she said seemingly reading his mind. "Tell me about _him_." He shook his head, unsure what she wanted to know. "How long has he been on your team?"

"Been on my team since two-thousand four," he replied without hesitation. "Met him nine months before that on a case though. He was a case agent stationed at Norfolk, fresh out of training."

"Two-thousand three? He was what?" Grace asked. "Twenty-four? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-five," he replied. "Barely."

"Twenty-five and less than a year experience on the job. Seems like he was pretty young to be on the Major Case Response Team," Grace said.

"He was too young," he retorted. "That's why it took nine months to get him transferred. Can't tell you how many times the Director denied his transfer before I finally got him onto my team."

"But you fought to get him transferred?" Grace asked. He nodded. "Why? What did you see in him?" He shrugged. It was hard to put into words. "Your famous Gibbs' gut?" she asked.

"If you want to call it that," he replied as he took a sip of water.

Tony hadn't been pleased to be left behind to babysit a Probie while he and Kate traveled to the submarine. But he needed Tony to continue the investigation on land and McGee knew the landscape in Norfolk better. They had worked well together and found their imposter's accomplice. And that had saved a sub full of sailors including himself and Kate.

"Wasn't wrong. He turned into a great agent," he finished.

"What's his background?" she asked. "Military?"

He shook his head. "Never served," he replied as he thought about Admiral McGee. To a kid, the Admiral's parenting style would _feel_ like serving. "Navy brat. His father was a four-star admiral."

"Was?" Grace prompted.

"Passed away a few years ago," he said quickly. This was starting to feel less like a therapy session and more like an interrogation about McGee. "What's the point of all these questions?" he asked irritably.

"Just painting a picture," Grace said mildly.

He looked at her skeptically.

Suddenly it hit him. He knew what she was trying to do.

"You're trying to figure out why I insisted on this appointment," he said. She nodded. "I thought we covered this before."

"That might be one of your reasons," Grace countered. "But I doubt it's the real reason." He stared at her, his brows knitting together. If she thought he had another reason, she was the only one to believe that. "I know this is the last place you want to be Gibbs. Your method of dealing with emotional trauma is working on your boat over a glass of Bourbon not talking to anyone else about your feelings." He shrugged. He couldn't deny that. "So I'm trying to figure out what makes Timothy McGee so special that you would do something you hate to do just to make him feel better."

"He's on my team," he said easily. "And I protect my team. Isn't that enough?"

"Maybe," she said. "But you and I both know that isn't it. What else is there?"

He stared at her defiantly, daring her to contradict him.

But she didn't.

Instead Grace looked at him with a neutral expression, just waiting for him to give her the real answer. And for once, he knew what it felt like to be on the other side of a stony stare meant to force one of his agents to stop looking at him for an answer they already knew.

And he did know the answer. In fact, Fornell had called him on it the very first day he had been home. Leon had pointed it out to him just a few days ago too. Anyone who knew him would know what he was feeling right now. He just wasn't sure what good saying it out loud would do. But he had tried working things out by himself and that hadn't worked.

Sighing, he said, "He wouldn't be in this situation if not for me," he said finally. "He stayed behind because I did. He went through two months of hell because of my choice."

"You're saying that what happened in Paraguay is your fault?" she asked. He nodded. "I would argue that the fault lies with the RAC for both of those things." He rolled his eyes. He hadn't been the one to beat and torture McGee, but he might as well have been. It had been his choice that led Tim down that path and now Tim was paying the price. "You're really enjoying this trip on the Guilt Train, aren't you?"

Taken by surprise, he looked at her incredulously. "Enjoying?" he asked. "You think I'm enjoying this?"

"Do you think if you punish yourself enough, it'll make up for what happened to Tim?" she asked.

"Penance," he said softly.

That's what Tim had called it last night when they had talked. Taking the brunt of the physical torture had been both to protect Tim and punish himself for putting Tim into that situation. Was he still punishing himself for that decision?

"Exactly," Grace said. "Do you think you owe him penance for making the choice you did?"

He looked at the floor, but he wasn't seeing the office. He was seeing Tim lying on the steamer floor, passed out, bloody and bruised after time spent in El Doctor's room. There wasn't anything in the world he could do that could make up for putting Tim through Hell. But he still had to try, didn't he?

"Would you have changed anything you did that day?" she asked.

"I wouldn't have gotten caught," he retorted but Grace just looked at him. "No," he replied.

"Do you think Tim would have changed his mind and stayed on that helicopter if he knew what was to come?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "He'd have made the same choice. He said so last night."

"So why are you staying on the Guilt Train?" Grace asked. "Why continue to punish yourself for something you can't and wouldn't change?" He shrugged. "Guilt isn't good for anything. It's a waste of time and energy. It keeps you from accepting what happened and it keeps you from moving forward."

"What's the solution?" he asked softly.

"You tell me," Grace said. "You can't change what happened, Gibbs. Once you accept that, what would make you feel better?"

"Knowing that Tim is ok," he replied softly.

"That he isn't permanently scarred by what happened?" she asked. He nodded. "Well that isn't going to happen," she said bluntly. He jolted and looked at her. "Our lives are the sum of our experiences, Gibbs. Good _and_ bad. Going through months of torture is going to leave a mark no matter how much therapy anyone goes through."

"You're not helping," he muttered.

"Our scars are the signs that we've survived what life can throw at us," she continued. "And they show that we're prepared to take on the next challenge. If you can survive being held captive, beaten and starved for two months, I'm pretty confident there isn't anything life can throw at you two that you can't handle." He shrugged slightly in concession. "Doesn't mean everything will be peachy instantaneously. You both went through Hell. It's going to take time to deal with the fallout." He nodded. "Tim seems prepared to put in the work. Are you?"

He thought about everything that he had gone through in his life. He was scarred. He had seen his share of ups and downs. But he fought through everything and he had survived. He might have even made a difference in some lives. They had certainly saved those boys from being forced into becoming like the men that had tortured them for two months. And it was moments like those that kept him fighting the good fight.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Good," Grace replied. "Shall I make your next appointment after Tim's?"

Surprised, he looked at his watch. The hour had flown by.

Chuckling, he nodded. "Yeah. That'll be fine."

"Good," Grace said. "I don't care how my patients get in the door. If you came because of Tim and if you continue to come because of Tim, I can work with that. You're helping yourself by helping him."

"Thanks Doc," he said as he stood.

"You're welcome," she said as she stood up. "I'll see you soon Gibbs."

Nodding, he left her office feeling a little lighter than he had just twenty-four hours ago. Grace was right. Tim would be fine. He'd make sure of it, but he was confident that Tim had the tools to get himself on the right track. And knowing that eased part of the weight on his mind he had felt since their return.

But there was still something weighing on him.

Which was why he found himself standing outside of McGee's apartment at six o'clock sharp on Saturday night, holding a baker's box and staring at the doorbell.

After arresting Wilkins, the remainder of their work week had been quiet. They wrote reports, filed paperwork and finished up the Coyne case. Then on Friday afternoon, Leon stopped by and with little fanfare, he told them that he and Tim would resume their leadership roles starting first thing Monday.

Much to their amusement, Bishop had thrown up her hands and had joyfully accepted her demotion. Then, as her last act as 'boss,' she had then called for a celebration. Once she announced that drinks were on her, Tim and Torres agreed to join her. When they looked at him, he nodded.

While Bishop and Torres ordered their drinks at the bar, Tim told him that he and Delilah had talked, and they hoped he'd consider joining them for dinner on Saturday. To Tim's surprise, he agreed and offered to bring dessert.

Which was why he was holding the baker's box. But even though he knew he had to see Delilah eventually, he still wasn't sure he was ready to face her. He still wasn't sure what he would say to her after nearly getting her husband killed.

Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching. Worried about what it would look like if one of Tim's neighbors saw him lingering on the doorstep, he hastily rang the bell. A moment later, he heard a voice call out that the door was open.

Opening the door, he looked inside. He didn't see anyone, but he did smell something delicious.

Suddenly Delilah backed out of the kitchen so that she could see him.

"Hey Gibbs," she said. "Come on in."

Closing the door behind him, he walked through their apartment to the kitchen. The table was set and a whole roast chicken with lemon and garlic was resting in the center.

"Your timing is perfect. Dinner is ready," she said as she closed the oven door. "I just need to keep everything warm until Tim comes back from the store. He ought to be back soon."

"If you needed something," he said. "I could have stopped."

"I didn't want to impose," she said as she turned around and smiled up at him sweetly. "Besides, isn't it the expectant father's duty to go out for vanilla ice cream, hot sauce and skittles?" He looked at her with amusement. She rested an arm on her belly. "Yeah, I've had some weird cravings."

He chuckled. "Can't say that hot sauce will go with dessert, but the vanilla ice cream will." She looked at the baker's box in his hands. "Apple pie." Her eyes lit up. "From the diner. I'm not much of a baker."

"You and me both," Delilah said as she motioned for him to set the box on the counter. "Of the two of us, Tim's the baker. He says that it's a lot like chemistry only it tastes better."

He smiled. That sounded like Tim.

"My mom made the best apple pie," he replied. "She used to drizzle hot fudge on top."

Delilah looked at him as if that was the greatest revelation in the world.

"I like the way your mom thinks, Gibbs," she said as she pulled out her phone. She tapped a few buttons and a moment later, she smiled. "I can make hot fudge. Just added heavy cream to Tim's list."

He chuckled.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Delilah asked. "Soft drink? Coffee? Tea? I'd offer you a glass of wine or a beer but." She motioned to her belly. "We haven't kept much alcohol in the apartment since we found out. Wait, why am I asking? Of course, you want coffee."

"I'm good," Gibbs said. She looked at him with surprise. "After not having coffee for months, I don't have the tolerance I once had. I'll be up all night if I have coffee now." She nodded in understanding. "Working on it though."

She laughed. "Well in this case, you're in luck." He looked at her questioningly. "I have decaf. With the baby, I can't have caffeine but just the smell seems to help wake me up in the morning. I'm pretty sure it's psychological but if it works, I'm not going to complain!"

Chuckling, he nodded. He watched as she pulled everything out from the lower cabinets and began to set up the coffee to brew. Stepping forward, he motioned to the carafe.

"Thanks," she said as he took it and filled the carafe with water.

After the coffee was set to brew, they were left standing in an uncomfortable silence. He knew he needed to talk to Delilah and now was the perfect opportunity since Tim wasn't here. But he still couldn't bring himself to say what he needed to say.

"Would you like to see the baby's room?" she asked suddenly.

"Sure," he replied. He followed her to the back bedroom.

"Not sure why Tony didn't think that he could have stayed here with Tali," Delilah said. "Once we cleared out all the boxes and took down the shelves, it was a lot bigger than we both expected."

He looked over her. She was right. After removing the shelves and boxes, the room was more than large enough for a baby's room. They had painted the walls a light gray and it was decorated with stars and moons. A crib was on the far wall and a folding changing table was attached to another wall.

"Feel like you're ready?" he asked as he stepped inside to look at the table. It was solidly attached to the wall at the right height for Delilah.

"Does anyone?" she asked as she rubbed her belly.

"No," he said with a laugh. "I guess not."

"If you're asking, if we have everything we need," she said. "Then I think we're set. Unless you can think of anything."

"Looks like you're missing a mobile," he added as he looked around.

"We haven't found one that we liked yet," she admitted. "Well Tim hasn't. He's vetoed every one that I found." He turned around and looked at her. "As if not picking out a mobile will delay the baby's arrival." She rubbed her belly. "Actually, I think he's trying to use the mobile to convince me to find out what we're having."

"With a mobile?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied. "He keeps saying that one mobile would be great if we have a boy or another would be great if we have a girl." He chuckled as he realized that Tim's assertation that _they_ hadn't wanted to know what they were having wasn't the whole truth. "I'll give him points for an unusual interrogation technique. But he's not going to convince me to find out what we're having that way."

"He and Tony once interrogated a suspect using cookies," he said.

"Cookies?" she asked. He nodded. That had certainly been one of Tony's more unusual interrogation techniques, but it had worked. "Well he can try all he wants. I actually don't know the gender of our baby so I really can't answer him."

He chuckled again and motioned for her to return to the kitchen. From the smell of things, the coffee was finished brewing.

Given the stars and moon theme, he had a few ideas for a mobile. The fine work might be a challenge with his hand but he'd make it work.

Delilah collected a few mugs from a lower cabinet. Without a word, he stepped forward and took the mugs from her. She smiled up at him and left him to fill the mugs. She collected some milk and sugar for herself and met him at the dining room table.

He set the mugs onto the table and watched as Delilah added a little sugar and milk. After she returned the milk to the fridge, he took a seat and sipped his coffee appreciatively. Even without caffeine, he still valued a good cup of coffee.

"Did I meet your high standards?" she asked wryly.

"Yeah," he said with a laugh.

"I'm sure that first cup of coffee once you got home tasted good," she said with a smile.

"The first cup was awful," he said to her surprise. "It was on the plane home. Probably the worst coffee I'd ever had. Still drank half of it." She laughed. "Took a while before drinking a cup didn't make me jittery. Been drinking some decaf on occasion."

"Mostly in the evenings?" she asked. He nodded. "You've been having trouble sleeping too?"

He jolted and looked down at his mug. Even though he had a feeling that the conversation would end up on Paraguay, he kinda hoped that it wouldn't. Even knowing that he _needed_ to talk about Paraguay didn't make it any easier to _actually_ talk about Paraguay.

"Yeah," he replied as he looked at Delilah. She was looking at him with concern. Her eyes were darting between the scar on his cheek and the bruised and battered knuckle. "Nightmares have kept me up. Tim too?"

"Since he got home," she replied. "Although I'm pretty sure I only know about half of them." She looked at him with concern. "He's been much better since talking to Doctor Confalone. I think we both would have gotten full night's sleep Tuesday if I didn't have to get up in the middle of the night to pee because of the baby."

Relieved that Tim was sleeping better, he relaxed. "Got my first full night's sleep after talking with Grace too."

He looked down at his coffee again.

Knowing that Tim was going to be ok had greatly eased his conscious and after leaving Grace's office on Tuesday night, he had gone home and had his first unbroken night's sleep in four months. And seeing Tim well-rested the next day had helped him sleep the next night too.

"Gibbs, I have a confession," Delilah said suddenly. "I didn't really need anything from the store. I sent Tim out so I could talk with you alone." He looked at her, wondering what she wanted to talk about. In spite of himself, he was nervous. "And I get the feeling you wanted to talk with me too?"

He nodded. "Doesn't make it any easier though." She looked at him with confusion. "I wasn't sure if dinner was Tim's idea or not," Gibbs said to break the silence. "And I wasn't sure you really wanted to talk to me considering…"

"Considering what?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. He shook his head. The words seemed to be stuck in a lump in his throat. "Considering that my husband leapt from safety to rescue you and ended up getting captured held prisoner for two months?" she asked incredulously.

He winced. Her words were like a slap in the face.

"I'm sorry Gibbs," she said hastily. "I didn't mean…"

"It's ok," he said. "You're not wrong." He frowned. "Before the mission, I told him he didn't have to go," he said softly. "He had no obligation to take on this mission. He had responsibilities at home..."

She raised her eyebrows.

"And you really expected him to leave?" she asked.

"I should have made him," he retorted.

"You could have tried. But it wasn't going to work," she replied bluntly. "Tim would never abandon his team when they needed him." He nodded slightly in concession. "And you needed him Gibbs. It was a dangerous plan even _with_ Tim's help. But," she said firmly. "He knew you'd never leave without trying to rescue those kids. He wanted to help them too. Things just didn't go to plan."

"I understand if your angry with me," he said. "You have every right to be. It was my decisions that led to that raid."

She took a deep breath.

"Of all the things I felt after I got the news, anger wasn't one of them," she said. "I was mostly afraid. The worst part was not knowing. I didn't know if Tim had been hurt or captured or killed or if you were hiding in the forest somewhere." She took a deep breath. "And everything was amplified because of all the hormones." She looked him in the eye. "I cried a lot. But I was never angry."

He nodded.

"Did you know that Tim stood me up for our first real date?" she asked. He looked at her in surprise. He _hadn't_ known that. "Well not really," she replied. "I thought he did. He canceled at the last minute, but I didn't get his texts until the middle of the night. They were super vague too. Something about a sudden trip out of the country for work?"

Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure when Tim and Delilah had first met. He knew the Conrad Gala had been almost four years ago, so it had been before that. But he couldn't think of any trips that Tim had taken out of the country other than their mission to Somalia to take out Saleem Ulman.

"I didn't hear from him for six days after that," she said. "When he finally texted me, he asked to meet him for coffee before work. It was early and I was a little mad at him. But my roommate convinced me to go anyway.

"When I got to the coffee shop, Tim had a cup a coffee for me and a single sunflower," she said. "He looked terrible." She smiled fondly. "He was dirty and looked like he hadn't slept for a week. He was only awake because he had already had two cups of coffee and he was halfway through his third. Turns out he had canceled our date because he had gone to Afghanistan with you catch the killer of a marine dog handler." Smiling slightly, he remembered the case now. The bomb sniffing dog, Dexter, had gone with them to Afghanistan. "He called me as soon as he was back in country. That's when I found out he was an NCIS agent."

He knew Tim had been reticent to go to Afghanistan. He had assumed that it was because it was his first time going into an active war zone. And while some of it had probably been that, he now realized that Tim had plans that he had to break.

"He never mentioned he was breaking a date," Gibbs said. "Although that does explain why he wasn't so eager to go to Afghanistan. I thought it was because he was nervous about going into a war zone for the first time."

"Oh, he was," she replied causing him to smile. "But he went because he trusted you and he had your back. And because he wanted to get justice for that marine." She smiled. "I guess my point is that I've always known that Tim is brave and loyal to his friends. And that he's willing to make the difficult choices to do the right thing. It's one of the reasons why I fell in love with Tim."

"They're admirable traits," he said softly.

"Maybe a little frustrating at times too," she said with a laugh. Her smiled faded and she looked at him again. "That bravery and loyalty is why he jumped off that helicopter," she said. "And it's why you look so guilty."

Unsurprised that she had seen straight through him, he shrugged.

"I meant to stay behind alone," Gibbs said.

"To sacrifice yourself so that your team and those kids could escape," she said.

He nodded. "Never meant for Tim to jump off that helo," Gibbs said softly as he looked down at his cup to avoid her gaze.

"But you weren't surprised either," she said. He shook his head, unable to look at her. "And that's why you feel guilty. You knew Tim would stay with you and you knew you'd be captured."

"Actually, I expected to be killed outright," he said as he looked up at her. "Not complaining that they didn't kill us."

"You and me both," she retorted.

"I didn't see who was with me at first," he said as he thought back to the failed raid. He remembered hearing the helicopter take off. He could feel the downdraft pushing him towards the forest. He heard the sharp report of a handgun from behind him and saw one of the RAC militants fall. That told him that _someone_ had stayed behind. He didn't see who it was at first though. "Thought it might be Torres but figured it was Tim." He looked at her. "We tried to slip away but well…"

"Yeah," she replied. "Tim told me how you were captured." She reached out and rested her hand on his. "You shouldn't feel guilty, Gibbs. You were both trying to do the right thing. It's not your fault that there is evil in the world."

"No," he conceded. "But it is my job to protect my people, not put them into danger."

"Really?" she asked incredulously. "We both know that danger is a part of your job. You accept that. Tim accepts that and so do I. I may not like it. But I accept it." He smiled wanly. "What's the real reason you're feeling guilty?"

He tried to protest but the way she looked at him, he knew she wasn't buying it.

"Gibbs, I can see it in your eyes." He shrugged. She examined him for a long time before she said, "Was it because he was hurt?" He shook his head. "And starved? Or spent two months being terrified that he'd never make it home? Or that he's been having nightmares pretty much every night? Or that you knew I'd be worried sick about him?"

He shook his head again and again, but he wasn't denying that those things made him feel guilty. All of those things made him feel guilty. And it was really hard to hear her say _everything_ that had made him feel guilty all at once.

"Then what was it?" she demanded.

"I was grateful that he was there," he said without thinking.

He blinked in shock, surprised at his own words. He hadn't considered it before but now that he put voice to it, it made sense. He _had_ been grateful to see Tim at his side after the helo took off. He was sure he wouldn't have felt the same if it had been Torres.

Delilah looked equally surprised but then she looked at him with sympathy.

She squeezed his hand.

"You were grateful not that just _someone_ was there," she said softly. "You were grateful that it was Tim and not Nick?" she asked.

He nodded slightly.

"Because you know him better?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Not that I don't trust Torres…"

"But you trust Tim more," she said. He nodded slightly. "You've been through a lot together in the last fifteen years." He snorted and nodded again. _That_ was an understatement. "I know Tim probably won't tell me everything that happened," she said. "But one of the first things he told me was that he made it because you two were together. And from what I know, the reason why you two escaped was because you knew each other so well."

"Wasn't just that. Didn't hurt though," he replied. He took a deep breath. "I've been through a lot, but these last two months were harder than anything I've ever dealt with by far." He swallowed. "We faced death every day for two months. We were beaten, tormented, and starved. There were days that I knew death would be easier, maybe even preferable." She squeezed his hand and he looked at her. "But I wasn't going to give up because I wanted to get Tim home to you, to your baby. There was no way in hell I was going to let your child grow up without a father. Tim had that same drive."

She smiled. "And he wasn't going to come home without you," she said.

"Yeah," he said.

"You were glad that Tim stayed behind because you knew that one way or another, you'd both make it home, alive," she said.

"Yeah," he said as he realized she was right. "Yeah," he said again.

"Well you weren't wrong," she said.

"No," he said laughing slightly. "I wasn't."

He took a breath and let it out.

Fornell hadn't accused him of having a death wish in so many words, but he knew his friend well enough to read between the lines. And Tobias certainly hadn't been the first to ask if he had been _trying_ to get himself killed and he probably wouldn't be the last. But as he had told Fornell, he never _tried_ to get himself killed, but the risk of death wasn't going to stop him from putting himself into dangerous situations if it was the right thing to do.

While he would have preferred that Tim had taken the helo to safety, Delilah was right, he was glad that it had been McGee was at his side instead of Torres. McGee had a good head on his shoulders and he was patient, which meant Tim took calculated risks and was able to wait for the right moment to make their escape. And with almost fifteen years' worth of trust build up between them, he trusted Tim when he had given the code phrase to put their escape plan into action even without discussing _why_ Tim thought it was time to act.

"Are you ok?" Delilah asked.

"Yeah," he replied as he finished his coffee. "You might be giving Doctor Confalone a run for her money."

Delilah smiled and shrugged. "I'm glad to help," she replied genuinely. "I think there is something more though." He looked at her questioningly. "I'm also pretty sure that you feel guilty that you made me worry." He shrugged in concession. "You know, I wasn't sure that you'd actually show up tonight," she said. "But now I think I know why you did. You wanted to apologize." He nodded. "I thought you had rules against those?" she asked wryly.

"They're my rules," he retorted. "I can break one if I want." Delilah smiled. "And I think in this case, I need to." He looked her in the eyes. "I am sorry, Delilah."

"I never blamed you Gibbs," she said. "I was just as concerned for you as I was for Tim. Well maybe not in the same way."

Taken off guard, he chuckled but nodded. "I'd hope not," he said softly causing her to smile.

"You brought my husband home," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, that's enough of an apology." She squeezed his hand. "But if it isn't, apology accepted. Please don't do that again."

"Ok," he said with a chuckle.

Suddenly they heard the door opened and they heard Tim enter.

"Delilah, I'm back," Tim said before Gibbs could reply. "Sorry I was gone so long but I was on my way home when I got your text…"

"It's ok," she said as Tim entered the dining room and realized they weren't alone. "I had company."

"Oh, hey boss," Tim said, surprised to see him. "Been here long?"

"A little while," he replied vaguely. "Get everything?"

"Yeah," Tim replied. He looked at Delilah. "What's the heavy cream for?"

"Of all the things on the list, you're most confused about heavy cream?" she asked with a laugh. Tim rolled his eyes. "Hot fudge," Delilah replied. "Gibbs brought an apple pie for dessert."

"You baked?" Tim asked incredulously.

"From the diner," he replied not offended by Tim's reaction.

"And you put hot fudge on your apple pie?" Tim asked.

"My mom did," he replied. Tim's expression softened.

"I'm looking forward to trying it," Delilah said. "But first, can we eat dinner now? _Someone_ is hungry," she said as she rubbed her belly again. "And I've been smelling all this food for the last hour." She smiled wryly. "You two are lucky I didn't devour that chicken before you got here."

"Guess we ought to eat before Delilah starts without us and there isn't anything left," he said.

"She still might steal food off your plate, Gibbs," Tim said with a laugh.

"I did that once!" Delilah retorted. Tim shook his head but when Delilah looked at him, he nodded. Delilah shot him a dirty look but didn't contradict him. McGee smiled slightly, enjoying his small victory. "Tim, will you give me a hand? Gibbs, you stay there. We've got this."

As Delilah returned to the kitchen, he noted that Tim was wearing his father's watch. He met Tim's eye. Tim looked at the watch and shrugged.

"Thought tonight was a special occasion," Tim said. "You know. Since we're celebrating being home and back to work." He nodded in agreement. "I know things aren't back to normal yet," Tim said. "Or whatever normal will be. But they're getting better." Tim shifted a little as he glanced over his shoulder at Delilah. She was pulling side dishes out of the oven where they had been keeping warm. "And after everything we went through, it's nice to celebrate even the little things."

"Yeah," he replied as he glanced at Delilah. "We should appreciate the good things in our lives."

"Tim?" Delilah asked.

"Coming," Tim said. McGee looked at him apologetically before he hastily hurried into the kitchen to help.

Smiling, he suddenly felt very… _happy._

It wasn't the manic joy that he had been feeling since getting home. He knew from talking to Grace that those feelings were an overreaction to the trauma he had suffered. She used fancy words. After talking with Tim, he was calling it whiplash.

This felt different. This was more like a deep contentment he felt after a job well done.

It wasn't going to be easy, but he knew now that he and Tim would come out on the other side of this experience. They would be scarred but made stronger by their experiences.

Suddenly Tim appeared and refilled his coffee cup.

He nodded appreciatively as he picked up the mug.

"You ok, Boss?" Tim asked uncertainly.

"Yeah," he replied as he looked from Tim to Delilah. "I'm ok."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** For Gibbs' entire life, bad things tend to happen to the people around him. So when his people are hurt because of his actions, he takes it to heart. I really felt like Gibbs was carrying a lot of guilt around for what happened to McGee and that his trauma was less about what _he_ endured and more about what McGee endured _because_ of him. But now that McGee is a married man and an expectant father, Gibbs' guilt extends to how his actions impacted Delilah too. Tim might have new responsibilities at home, but I think Gibbs feels the extra responsibility to protect Tim even more than he did before they found out about the baby. So part of his healing would have to include facing Delilah and getting her forgiveness before he could forgive himself. And since Delilah is a formidable woman, it would doubly hard to face her, even for Gibbs! Between Delilah's forgiveness and talks with Grace, Gibbs is on his way to dealing with what happened in Paraguay.

And with that, my one-shot that could has come to an end. What initially was a single chapter story turned into a two chapter story and ended up being ten chapters! I've really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you enjoyed reading it. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Now it's time to get back to some of my works in progress including a follow up to Speak Easy Boys.


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